#// he is fun to play and has been like one of my first muses that i refuse to let go

[gyuuberryy]

a tailored connection

pairing: designer!sunghoon x muse!reader

synopsis: sunghoon, a talented designer, has always harboured feelings for his longtime friend, you. when he invites you to be his muse, the sessions are charged with a tension that neither of you can ignore. as sunghoon’s compliments and intimate moments reveal deeper feelings, a surprising twist shakes your world. with your engagement to someone else looming and sunghoon grappling with his emotions, both of you face a turning point that will challenge everything you thought you knew about love and friendship.

genre: friends to lovers, both are fools in love

warnings: looot of tension, angst!! , kissing, crying, not really proofread

note: aaand with this royally yours comes to an end, i had a great time writing it! where can i get a man who makes me dresses like this :( i hope you enjoy reading this<3

word count: 16.8k

royally yours masterlist | prev:jake

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

the sound of laughter echoes through the village streets, a memory woven into the fabric of your childhood. sunghoon had always been there, his presence as familiar to you as the sky above. you grew up side by side—first as playmates, then as something more complicated, though neither of you had the words for it yet.

it started with simple things. the way he’d hold out his hand to help you over the stones in the river, his grip firm but gentle. the way he’d always save the last piece of the bread he bought for lunch, handing it to you with a shy grin. and the way he’d linger just a bit longer when you hugged him goodbye, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid to let go.

you were never apart for long, always finding reasons to be in each other’s company. as children, you’d run wild through the village, a pair of inseparable companions. the streets had been your playground, the trees your hideout, and the open fields your kingdom.

sunghoon was the one who taught you how to climb trees, his long limbs making it look easy as he scrambled up the tallest one in the village square. you’d followed him then, determined to keep up with him no matter what, your competitive spirit something he both teased and admired.

“come on, you can do it,” he’d called down to you one day, perched on a sturdy branch high above, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “i’m not leaving you behind.”

“i’m not going to be left behind,” you’d retorted, climbing faster, though your hands were trembling. you didn’t want to admit it, but heights terrified you.

sunghoon had seen through you, though, like he always did. when you reached the top, his hand had shot out to steady you, his touch reassuring. “see? i told you,” he said, smiling in that soft way that always made you feel warm inside.

that was how it always was—sunghoon pushing you to be braver, to go further, but always there to catch you if you stumbled.

as you grew older, the carefree days of your childhood evolved into something quieter, but no less meaningful. sunghoon’s passion for design began to bloom, his sketchbook always tucked under his arm, filled with dresses, cloaks, and the kind of ornate embroidery that would make any noble gasp. he’d spend hours at the village tailor’s shop, learning from the master tailor, and you’d sit in the corner, watching him work, admiring the way his hands moved with precision and care.

“why don’t you just play outside like the other girls?” the old tailor would often ask you, shaking his head with a smile. “this place is no fun for someone your age.”

you’d always smile back, knowing full well why you stayed. “i don’t mind. besides, i like watching sunghoon.”

sunghoon would look up from his work then, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “she’s my best critic,” he’d say, as if that explained everything.

but it wasn’t just about watching him work. there was something in the quiet moments between you, in the way you understood each other without having to say a word. he would sketch something and glance up, catching your eye, and you’d know exactly what he was thinking. he didn’t have to say it.

the bond between you deepened with every passing year, though the village seemed blind to it. to everyone else, you were just friends, nothing more. but there were moments—fleeting, subtle—when you felt something stirring between you, something neither of you dared to speak aloud.

it wasn’t until one late afternoon, when the two of you were sitting under the large oak tree at the edge of the village, that you truly realised how much he meant to you.

the summer sun cast a golden glow over the fields, the breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers. you were both quiet, simply enjoying each other’s company. sunghoon had his sketchbook open on his lap, his charcoal pencil moving lazily across the page. you were watching him, as you often did, wondering what it would be like to have your portrait sketched by him. would he see you differently if he looked at you that way? would the feelings you’d kept locked inside for so long show on your face?

“what are you drawing this time?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence. it was always your way of trying to sneak a glimpse into the world that sunghoon poured into his designs.

he looked up, startled from his thoughts, his pencil pausing mid-stroke. “just... a dress,” he said, and though it sounded like a simple answer, there was a softness in his voice that made you curious.

“a dress?” you echoed, smiling. “for who?”

“for... no one in particular,” he murmured, closing the book before you could peek at it. “just an idea.”

you tilted your head, studying him. “you’ve been spending a lot of time on these designs lately. are you preparing for something big?”

he shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “maybe. i’ve been thinking about... making something new. something different. i don’t want to just follow the same old patterns forever.”

you nodded, understanding. sunghoon had always been ambitious, but his talent had begun to outgrow the small village you lived in. you knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to leave—venture into the capital or even beyond to showcase his work.

“whatever it is, you’ll be amazing at it,” you said, your voice steady, though your chest tightened at the thought of him leaving.

he glanced at you then, his expression unreadable. “you really think so?”

“of course,” you replied without hesitation. “i’ve always believed in you.”

the words felt heavier than they should have, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. sunghoon’s gaze lingered on you, something unspoken flickering in his eyes, but just as quickly, he looked away, his fingers nervously tapping the cover of his sketchbook.

“i couldn’t have come this far without you,” he said, his voice quiet. “you’ve always been there for me.”

you smiled softly, nudging him with your shoulder. “that’s what friends are for, right?”

but even as you said it, the word “friends” felt inadequate—too small to hold the depth of what you felt for him. and though you couldn’t say it aloud, you wondered if sunghoon felt the same.

as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the fields, the two of you sat in silence, side by side. in the fading light, everything felt suspended—like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

but neither of you moved, and the unspoken feelings between you remained just that—unspoken.

for now.

the day had started like any other. you were making your way through the village, the familiar sights and sounds surrounding you—children running through the streets, merchants shouting their daily specials, and the distant clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. but today, something felt different. there was an odd flutter in your stomach, though you couldn’t quite place why. perhaps it was because you were heading to sunghoon’s workshop, as you often did, or perhaps it was something else.

his shop had grown over the years, its modest space now brimming with elegant fabrics and mannequins draped in partially finished garments. sunghoon had worked tirelessly, his name slowly gaining recognition beyond the village, though he remained humble about his achievements. it had become a routine for you to visit him, to sit in the corner while he worked, offering your thoughts or simply watching the magic unfold under his skilled hands.

when you arrived, the door was slightly ajar, and you pushed it open to find sunghoon standing at his worktable, deep in thought. his back was turned to you, the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the window and casting a soft glow around him. he was focused, hunched over a sketch, his pencil moving in rapid strokes, as if he were chasing some fleeting inspiration.

you stepped inside quietly, not wanting to disturb him. he was always at his best when he was lost in his work—his mind far away from the village, immersed in a world of silk and satin, seams and stitches. but even in those moments, it wasn’t uncommon for him to sense your presence before you spoke.

today, though, he was more distracted than usual. he didn’t notice you until you were almost beside him, peeking over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his newest creation. “what’s this one?” you asked lightly, hoping not to startle him.

he jumped slightly, straightening up and turning to face you, a small smile forming on his lips when he saw it was you. “you’re early.”

you raised an eyebrow. “am i interrupting?”

“no, not at all,” he said, closing the sketchbook and setting it aside. “i was just... thinking.”

“you do that a lot,” you teased, leaning against the edge of the worktable. “what’s on your mind today?”

for a moment, he didn’t answer. his gaze drifted toward the window, his fingers playing absentmindedly with the hem of a piece of fabric. you could see there was something weighing on him, but sunghoon had always been the type to choose his words carefully, never speaking until he was sure of what he wanted to say.

finally, he turned back to you, his expression serious but soft. “i’ve been working on something new. something important.”

you crossed your arms, intrigued. “i figured as much. you’ve been spending even more time here than usual. what is it? a new collection?”

“not exactly,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “it’s... different this time. i want to create something that’s truly mine, something that will set me apart. but to do that, i need help.”

you blinked, surprised. sunghoon rarely asked for help, especially when it came to his designs. “help? from me?”

he nodded slowly, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart skip. “i want you to be my muse.”

the words hung in the air between you, heavier than you’d expected. muse. it wasn’t just a word—it was a role that carried meaning. in a way, you’d always been part of sunghoon’s creative process, offering suggestions or simply being there to share in his successes and frustrations. but this... this was something else entirely.

you shifted your weight, suddenly feeling a little unsure. “a muse? what do you mean?”

“i mean...” he hesitated, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the right words. “i’ve been designing dresses, outfits for people i’ve never even met. but none of them feel personal. none of them feel real. i want to create something that speaks to me, and to do that, i need someone who inspires me. someone i know. someone... like you.”

your breath caught in your throat. the way he said it, the way his eyes lingered on you—it was impossible to ignore the meaning behind his words. he wasn’t just asking you to be part of his work; he was asking you to be at the centre of it. to be the person he looked at, thought about, dreamed about while he created. and that idea stirred something inside you that you hadn’t been prepared for.

“i don’t know if i’d make a very good muse,” you said, trying to laugh it off, though your heart was racing.

sunghoon stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “you’re perfect for it. you’ve always been perfect.”

the air between you shifted, growing warmer, heavier with tension. it wasn’t the first time he’d complimented you—he was always kind, always thoughtful—but this felt different. his words weren’t casual or lighthearted. they carried weight, an unspoken truth that had been building between you for years.

you felt the heat rise in your cheeks, your throat tightening. being his muse meant more than just standing still while he draped fabric around you. it meant letting him see you, really see you, in ways that no one else ever had. it felt intimate, like a part of you would be etched into every piece he made.

“what would that mean for us?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

sunghoon blinked, startled by the question. “what do you mean?”

“you and i,” you clarified, feeling the weight of the words. “if i agree... won’t it change things between us?”

for a long moment, sunghoon didn’t speak. he seemed to consider your words, his eyes searching your face as if trying to decipher your feelings. finally, he took a deep breath, stepping even closer, so close now that you could feel the warmth of his body. “maybe it will,” he admitted, his voice soft but steady. “but maybe it’s already changed. maybe it’s been different for a long time.”

his words hit you like a wave, the truth in them undeniable. he was right. things had changed—slowly, quietly—but neither of you had ever dared to acknowledge it. until now.

your heart hammered in your chest, the weight of his confession settling over you like a blanket. you could feel the tension between you, crackling like the air before a storm. there was something fragile, something precious hanging between you, and the slightest word or movement could shatter it.

but then, without thinking, you made your decision.

“i’ll do it,” you said, your voice barely audible, but firm.

sunghoon’s eyes widened, a flicker of surprise and relief passing across his face. “you will?”

you nodded, your gaze never leaving his. “yes. i’ll be your muse.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke. the silence stretched, heavy with the unspoken feelings that had been buried for so long. and then, slowly, sunghoon’s lips curved into the softest smile—a smile that reached his eyes and made something inside you melt.

“thank you,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours, and for a brief, electrifying moment, it felt as if time stood still. you were acutely aware of how close he was, how much more intimate things had become between you in just a few short minutes.

you smiled back, though your heart was pounding. “i think it’ll be fun.”

sunghoon laughed softly, the sound low and warm, and the tension between you seemed to ease, just a little. but even as you both fell into a more comfortable silence, you knew that things between you had changed. there was no going back now.

the sun was beginning to set as you made your way to sunghoon’s shop, a soft, golden glow spreading across the village. it had been only a few days since you agreed to be his muse, but the weight of that decision still lingered in your mind. there was a sense of anticipation, an underlying current of excitement that thrummed through you, but also an edge of nervousness that you couldn’t shake.

you had always been comfortable around sunghoon, but this felt different. it wasn’t just visiting a friend; you were stepping into a role that felt intimate in ways you hadn’t quite expected. and you knew that once you crossed the threshold of his workshop today, something between you would shift again.

when you arrived, sunghoon was already waiting. the door was propped open, and you could hear the faint sounds of rustling fabric and the occasional scratch of his pencil against paper. you hesitated for a moment at the doorway, taking a deep breath before stepping inside.

sunghoon looked up as soon as you entered, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “you came,” he said, sounding almost relieved.

“of course i did,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light despite the quickening of your pulse. “i’m your muse now, remember?”

his smile widened just a little, and he motioned for you to come in. “right. my muse.”

the word still felt strange on your tongue, and hearing him say it made something flutter in your chest. you glanced around the room, noticing that he had cleared some space near the large windows where the light poured in. rolls of fabric were neatly arranged, sketchbooks stacked nearby, and a dress form stood at the centre, waiting to be draped with something new.

you stepped closer, feeling the warmth of the sunlight against your skin, but also the weight of sunghoon’s gaze on you. his eyes followed your every movement, a soft intensity in them that made the space between you feel smaller, more charged.

“so, where do we start?” you asked, forcing a smile to break the tension that was building in the room.

sunghoon set down his pencil and moved to stand beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he reached for a roll of fabric. “i was thinking we’d start by figuring out what you like. i want to design something that feels like you—not just any dress, but one that you’d wear and feel... beautiful in.”

the way he said the word beautiful made your stomach flip. you swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the way his voice lingered on the compliment.

“what i like?” you repeated, frowning slightly. “i’m not sure. i mean, i’ve never really thought about it.”

sunghoon raised an eyebrow, glancing over at you with a small smile. “you’ve never thought about what you like in dresses? after all this time of coming here and watching me work?”

you laughed, a little nervous. “i guess i’ve always been more interested in what you were making for other people.”

“well,” he said, his voice softening, “now it’s time to think about what’s right for you.”

he moved closer, picking up a few pieces of fabric and holding them up to the light. “what do you think of these? what colours feel like you?”

you eyed the fabrics he held—a deep emerald green, a soft blush pink, and a striking midnight blue. each one seemed to carry a different weight, a different mood, and the idea of choosing one for yourself felt strangely personal.

“i’m not sure,” you admitted, reaching out to touch the green fabric. “i’ve always liked green, but... i don’t know if it suits me.”

sunghoon tilted his head, his eyes flickering over you, as if he were studying you in a way he hadn’t before. “it suits you,” he said quietly, the certainty in his voice catching you off guard. “it brings out your eyes. but so would the blue.”

you blinked, surprised by the compliment. sunghoon wasn’t one to flatter people needlessly, especially not you. his compliments usually came in the form of casual remarks, offhand observations about how a colour might work or how you carried yourself in a certain style. but this—this was different. there was something in his tone, in the way he looked at you now, that felt far more intimate.

you felt your face grow warm under his gaze, suddenly self-conscious. “you think so?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“i know so,” he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. “you have a way of making things look better just by wearing them. it’s not just about the dress—it’s about how you wear it.”

the room seemed to shrink, the air between you growing heavier with each passing second. you hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected him to speak so plainly, so openly. sunghoon had always been composed, professional, even around you. but now, there was something more vulnerable in the way he spoke, something unguarded.

you cleared your throat, trying to break the moment before it became too much. “well, what about styles then? i’ve always liked simpler designs. nothing too extravagant.”

sunghoon nodded thoughtfully, his eyes still lingering on you, as if he were trying to memorise every detail of your expression. “simple suits you,” he murmured. “but there’s something about you that deserves more. something elegant.”

“elegant?” you echoed, unsure of where this was coming from.

“mm,” he hummed, reaching for his sketchbook. “you’ve always carried yourself with a kind of grace—like you don’t even realise how beautiful you are.”

your breath hitched. you stared at him, your heart pounding louder in your chest as his words hung in the air between you. this wasn’t just a compliment—it was something else. something deeper. and the realisation of it hit you like a wave.

sunghoon, too, seemed to realise the weight of what he’d just said. he quickly looked away, focusing on his sketchbook as if he could take the words back by drowning them in his work. “i didn’t mean to... i mean...”

you stood there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. you had never thought of yourself the way sunghoon was describing you now, and the fact that he saw you like this—it was overwhelming. you could feel the tension crackling between you, the unspoken feelings that had always lingered beneath the surface suddenly threatening to rise.

“i just... think you should have something that shows who you are,” sunghoon continued, his voice quieter now, more careful. “not just as my muse, but as you. something that makes people stop and see you the way i do.”

your pulse quickened at his words, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if you could trust yourself to speak. the way he was looking at you now, with an intensity you hadn’t seen before, made it feel like the walls of the workshop were closing in.

you glanced down, trying to focus on the fabric in your hands, but the weight of his gaze lingered. “sunghoon... i don’t know what to say.”

he shook his head, stepping back slightly as if to give you space. “you don’t have to say anything. i just... i want you to feel beautiful in whatever i make for you. that’s all.”

there was a long pause, the only sound in the room being the soft rustle of fabric as you ran your fingers over the green material again. your mind was spinning, your heart racing, and yet you couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through you at his words. it wasn’t just the compliment—it was the way he saw you, the way he always had.

finally, you looked up, meeting his gaze once more. “i trust you, sunghoon. i always have.”

his eyes softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “good,” he said quietly. “because i promise, whatever we create together, it’s going to be something unforgettable.”

the light from the late afternoon sun bathed sunghoon’s workshop in a golden hue, casting long shadows that stretched across the room. you stood near the centre, nervously smoothing the fabric of your dress as sunghoon readied his tools. he had done this countless times—measuring clients for garments—but somehow, this felt different. more intimate. more real.

“alright,” he said, his voice a little too casual as he approached with a measuring tape in hand. “this won’t take long.”

you nodded, trying to keep your breathing steady as you watched him move closer. sunghoon had always been meticulous when it came to his work, his hands sure and steady, but today there was a faint tremor in them as he unspooled the tape.

“so, uh,” he began, his gaze flickering between your face and the tape in his hands. “we’ll start with your shoulders. just... relax.”

you forced a smile, though the tension in the air was impossible to ignore. “i’m relaxed.”

he shot you a look that said he wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t argue. he stepped behind you, and you could feel his presence—warm, steady—just inches away. the fabric of your dress shifted slightly as he gently placed the tape around your shoulders, his fingers grazing your skin ever so lightly. the contact sent a shiver down your spine, though you tried your best to suppress it.

for a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft rustling of the measuring tape as he adjusted it. you could feel your heart beating faster, your pulse quickening with each passing second. sunghoon, on the other hand, seemed to be holding his breath, as if he were just as aware of the closeness as you were.

“alright,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, more focused. “now your waist.”

he stepped around to face you, his gaze briefly meeting yours before dropping to the tape in his hands. his movements were careful, almost hesitant, as he crouched slightly, bringing the tape around your waist. you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry as his fingers brushed the sides of your dress, the heat of his touch lingering longer than it should have.

the proximity, the feel of his hands so close to you—it was almost too much. you bit your lip, fighting the urge to fidget under his intense concentration. sunghoon had always been calm, composed, but now there was an unmistakable tension in the air, a subtle awkwardness that made your heart race even faster.

he straightened up, pulling the tape taut as he noted your measurements. “i... uh,” he began, clearing his throat slightly, “i’ll need to get your bust next.”

you blinked, feeling your face grow warm. “oh. right.”

it wasn’t as if you hadn’t expected it—this was part of the process, after all—but somehow the idea of sunghoon taking that particular measurement felt... different. the room seemed smaller, the air thicker as you watched him struggle to keep his composure.

his hand hovered for a moment, clearly unsure of what to do. “i—uh,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “just... hold still.”

you nodded, though you could feel the flush rising to your cheeks as he brought the tape around your chest, his fingers brushing the fabric of your dress with the lightest touch. his face was close now—closer than it had ever been—his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you.

neither of you spoke. the silence stretched, heavy with the unspoken desires that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. his fingers fumbled slightly as he adjusted the tape, and for a brief moment, his hand brushed against your skin, sending a shock of electricity through you.

you inhaled sharply, your breath hitching at the unexpected contact, and sunghoon froze. his eyes flicked up to meet yours, wide and startled, as if he hadn’t meant to let the moment slip.

“sorry,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t mean to...”

“it’s fine,” you said quickly, though your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

but he didn’t move away. his hand remained where it was, the heat of his palm radiating through the fabric. you could feel every inch of him—every breath, every subtle movement—and the closeness was dizzying. there was something in his eyes, something unspoken, that made your pulse race even faster.

you swallowed hard, your voice barely steady as you spoke. “sunghoon...”

he blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, and quickly stepped back, dropping the measuring tape as if it had burned him. “i—i think that’s enough for now,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck again, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “i’ve got what i need.”

you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. “are you sure? i mean, if you need more measurements—”

“no!” he said, perhaps a little too quickly, then cleared his throat. “i mean, no. we’re good. i’ve got everything.”

the tension between you was palpable, thick and heavy, but neither of you knew how to break it. sunghoon busied himself with gathering the tape and jotting down notes, though his movements were jerky, his usual calm demeanour nowhere to be found.

you watched him, feeling a strange mix of emotions swirling in your chest. there was an awkwardness, yes, but also something else—something that had been building between you for a long time, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to spill over.

finally, sunghoon spoke again, though his voice was softer now, almost hesitant. “you know,” he said, not meeting your eyes, “you really do have... perfect proportions.”

your heart skipped a beat, his words catching you completely off guard. “what?”

he cleared his throat, rubbing his neck awkwardly once more. “i mean... for the dress,” he added quickly, as if trying to backtrack. “you have a really... balanced figure. for tailoring, i mean.”

you blinked, taken aback by the sudden compliment, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. it wasn’t just what he said—it was the way he said it. the way his voice softened, the way he fidgeted under your gaze, as if he were revealing more than he intended.

“i... thanks?” you managed, feeling your cheeks burn with a mix of surprise and awkwardness.

sunghoon gave you a tight-lipped smile, clearly as flustered as you were. “yeah. no problem.”

the silence that followed was thick and heavy, both of you too aware of the tension that had settled over the room like a heavy blanket. sunghoon quickly turned away, busying himself with his sketches, but the weight of the moment lingered in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

you took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart, but you knew—no matter how much you both tried to pretend otherwise—something between you had shifted. and neither of you were quite ready to confront it yet.

the days following that first measurement session seemed to blur together, each one filled with quiet moments, shared glances, and unspoken words that hung heavy in the air. sunghoon had thrown himself into the design, sketching feverishly as if creating your dress had become not just his project, but his obsession. every stroke of his pencil seemed deliberate, every detail in the fabric a reflection of how closely he had studied you—not just your body, but you as a person.

the workshop had become a second home to you, and you found yourself spending more and more time there as the dress took shape. each day, you would come in, greeted by the soft sounds of scissors slicing through fabric and the rhythmic hum of sunghoon’s needle as he stitched delicate patterns. his focus was unbreakable, yet there was always that moment when he would pause, look at you, and give a small, almost shy smile, as if he still couldn’t believe you were there, helping him create something so personal.

the tension between you grew thicker with every passing day. it was as if the fabric sunghoon was weaving was also binding the two of you together in ways neither of you had expected. there were the long stretches of silence, where the only sound was the soft brush of fabric against your skin as he worked, and then there were the moments when his hand would linger just a little too long as he adjusted the fit of a sleeve or pinned the hem of a skirt.

each session brought a new creation—a new dress, a new style. it had become almost routine: he would sketch out his ideas, asking for your thoughts on the design, and then you would model the fabric as he draped it over you, pinning it into place before moving on to the next step. but no matter how professional sunghoon tried to keep things, there was always that spark of something more lurking beneath the surface.

one afternoon, as you stood in the centre of the room, sunghoon paced around you, scrutinising the latest dress he had draped over your frame. this one was softer than the others, a light cream-coloured gown with delicate embroidery along the bodice. you could feel the weight of his gaze as he circled you, studying every fold, every contour, as if he were memorising the shape of you through the fabric.

“what do you think?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady, his eyes focused entirely on you.

you glanced down at the dress, running your fingers over the soft fabric. “it’s beautiful,” you murmured. “you’ve really outdone yourself.”

sunghoon didn’t respond right away. instead, he stepped closer, his brow furrowing slightly as he adjusted the neckline of the gown. his fingers grazed your collarbone as he worked, sending a shiver through you. he seemed to hesitate, his touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary, before he cleared his throat and stepped back.

“i’m trying to capture... something,” he said, his voice trailing off as he picked up his pencil and notepad, scribbling down a few notes. “something that feels... like you.”

you blinked, surprised by his words. “like me?”

he nodded, not looking up from his notes. “it’s not just about the dress. it’s about how you move, how you carry yourself. i want to create something that feels like it belongs to you. not just any dress, but... your dress.”

there it was again—that intensity in his words, the way he seemed to see you in ways no one else ever had. you weren’t sure how to respond, so you simply nodded, letting the moment settle between you.

the sessions continued like this over the next two weeks, each one more charged than the last. sunghoon worked tirelessly, sketching new designs late into the night, and every day you would return to see the progress he had made. he would greet you with that familiar smile, sometimes shy, sometimes teasing, and you would fall into the rhythm of your muse-and-artist routine.

but there was something else growing between you, something neither of you could ignore. each time sunghoon draped a new fabric over your shoulders, each time his fingers brushed your skin as he measured or adjusted the fit, the unspoken tension between you deepened. his compliments, once casual and light, became more thoughtful, more personal.

one day, as he worked on the finishing touches of a new gown—a soft lavender dress with delicate lace trimming—he paused, glancing at you from across the room. “you know,” he said, his voice softer than usual, “i’ve always known you were beautiful.”

you froze, your heart skipping a beat at his sudden confession. he didn’t meet your eyes, instead focusing on the hem of the dress as he stitched. “i just... i don’t think i’ve ever told you that,” he continued, his voice almost hesitant.

the words hung in the air, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. sunghoon had always been complimentary in his own way—praising your grace or your proportions for the sake of his designs—but this was different. there was something raw, something vulnerable in his tone that made your chest tighten.

“sunghoon,” you began, but he quickly shook his head, cutting you off before you could continue.

“i’m not saying it for any reason,” he said quickly, his hands still busy with his stitching. “i just... i think it’s something you should know. you’re more than just a muse to me.”

your breath caught in your throat. the weight of his words was impossible to ignore now, the line between friend and something more growing blurrier with each passing day.

you watched him work, his brow furrowed in concentration as he focused on the task at hand. the quiet intimacy of the moment settled around you like a soft cloak, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else existed outside of this room—just you, sunghoon, and the delicate threads of connection that were slowly being woven together.

by the time he finished the lavender dress, the air between you had shifted once again. there was no denying the feelings that had been bubbling beneath the surface for so long, but neither of you were ready to confront them. not yet.

“i think it’s done,” sunghoon said quietly, stepping back to admire the dress.

you turned, catching his eye for a brief moment before looking away, the tension between you still thick and unresolved.

“it’s perfect,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

sunghoon nodded, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer before he turned back to his sketches, his hands already moving toward the next design. but as he worked, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had shifted once again, pulling you both closer to the inevitable.

the day sunghoon finally called you to his workshop to try on the completed dress, your heartbeat quickened with anticipation. you had witnessed pieces of the gown as it came together—folds of fabric, tiny swirls of embroidery—but you hadn’t yet seen the masterpiece in its entirety. now, standing at the doorway, you felt a fluttering mix of nerves and excitement, an invisible pull drawing you into sunghoon’s world once more.

as you stepped inside, you found sunghoon waiting, his face a picture of quiet intensity. he nodded toward the mannequin where the dress hung, his eyes unreadable but somehow deeper, darker than usual, as if holding back something unspoken.

when your gaze finally landed on the dress, your breath caught in your throat.

it was breathtaking.

the gown was nothing short of exquisite—lavender silk flowed like water from the bodice down to the floor, shimmering under the afternoon light that streamed through the windows. the neckline was delicately embroidered, the threads so fine they seemed like whispers etched into the fabric, while lace fluttered over the sleeves, giving the piece an ethereal, almost dream-like quality. the entire dress exuded elegance, but more than that, it felt like you—a reflection of something so deeply personal that you almost couldn’t believe sunghoon had captured it.

you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the gown. “sunghoon... i don’t even know what to say,” you whispered, your fingers brushing the edge of the fabric. “it’s perfect.”

he remained silent, watching you with a quiet intensity that sent shivers down your spine. his gaze didn’t waver as you admired the dress, his expression unreadable but brimming with something just beneath the surface.

“try it on,” he finally said, his voice low and steady, though there was a note of something raw in it.

nodding, you carefully took the dress from the mannequin and disappeared behind the changing screen, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. the fabric felt cool against your skin as you slipped into the gown, the weight of the silk settling around your body like it had been made just for you—which, of course, it had.

the dress hugged your curves in all the right places, the bodice fitting snugly while the skirt fanned out into a soft cascade of fabric. you ran your hands down the front, smoothing the delicate lace as a quiet gasp escaped your lips. it was perfect—no, more than perfect. it was everything you had dreamed of.

but there was one problem. as you reached behind your back to tie the strings that secured the dress, you quickly realised they were positioned just out of your reach. you stretched and fumbled, trying to catch the ties, but it was no use. frustration bubbled inside you, and after a few more futile attempts, you sighed in defeat.

“sunghoon?” your voice was hesitant, your cheeks warming as you called for his help.

“yes?” he replied, his voice soft but nearby.

“i... i can’t tie the strings on my own. could you—could you help me?” your request was almost timid, aware of the intimacy it required, but there was no other option.

a pause followed, but then you heard his footsteps approaching. he came closer, and the air between you seemed to shift, charged with a kind of tension that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“of course,” sunghoon said quietly. his voice had taken on a softer tone, one that sent a quiet thrill through you as you stood there, waiting, feeling the heat of his presence behind you.

you turned your back to him, exposing the bare skin between the open edges of the dress. the silence that followed was thick, palpable, as his fingers grazed the strings, brushing against your skin in the process. his touch was featherlight, but each accidental contact sent small jolts through you, your senses heightened by the proximity, the intimacy of the moment.

sunghoon worked with slow, deliberate care, pulling the strings through the loops at your back. his fingertips continued to brush your skin, his movements precise but betraying the tension in the way his breath seemed to catch when his hands touched you. you could feel his closeness—the heat radiating from his body, his steady breath that almost matched the rhythm of your own heartbeat.

in the mirror directly in front of you, you watched his expression as he tied the delicate knots. his brow was slightly furrowed in concentration, but there was something else, something simmering beneath the surface. his lips parted ever so slightly, his eyes darkening as they traced the movement of his hands against your skin. you couldn’t stop staring at him, watching the way his fingers worked, almost trembling as they lingered on your body longer than necessary.

your pulse quickened, your breath coming out a little too shallow, and you wondered if he could feel the way your muscles tensed under his touch. it was impossible to ignore the tension—something unspoken, something that had been building between you for weeks, was about to break.

“there,” sunghoon murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. his hands remained on your waist, resting lightly against the fabric as though he couldn’t bring himself to let go just yet.

you swallowed hard, watching him through the mirror. the look on his face wasn’t just one of pride in his work—it was something far deeper. his gaze softened as he admired the way the dress fit you, his fingers tightening slightly against your waist. “you look... beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “it suits you perfectly. is it comfortable?”

the words were innocent enough, but the way he said them—the hushed tone, the way his eyes never left yours in the reflection—made your heart race. you nodded, unable to form words, still lost in the haze of the moment.

“it’s perfect,” you managed to say, your voice trembling slightly.

sunghoon’s hands stayed where they were, his touch sending a heat through you that was impossible to ignore. your eyes met his in the mirror, the intensity between you crackling like a flame barely held back. his grip on your waist tightened just a little, his fingers pressing into the fabric as though he were anchoring himself.

for a moment, everything froze. the workshop, the world outside—none of it seemed to matter. all that existed was the way he was looking at you, the way his breath hitched as he stood so close. his fingers brushed against your waist, just under the edge of the fabric, grazing the skin there ever so slightly.

then you turned around, and suddenly, the space between you was gone.

you were standing so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, your chest brushing against his as you moved. his eyes darted to your lips, then back up to your gaze, conflicted but full of want. the air was thick with tension, so much that you could hardly breathe, and then, without warning, sunghoon’s restraint snapped.

he kissed you.

the kiss was swift, almost frantic, as if he’d been holding it back for too long. his lips pressed against yours with a kind of hunger that sent shockwaves through your body, stealing your breath. one of his hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, while the other remained at your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of the dress as though he were afraid you’d slip away. the kiss deepened, your senses overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth against yours, the way his hands held you like he’d never let go.

your mind spun in a whirlwind of sensation. the kiss was impulsive, raw, filled with all the feelings he had been holding back for so long. you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—all you could do was respond, kissing him back with the same intensity, the same desperate need that had been growing between you for weeks.

but then, reality crashed down.

sunghoon pulled back, his eyes wide with shock and regret, his breath ragged as he stared at you. “i—” his voice faltered, his hand still lingering on your waist, trembling slightly. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “i didn’t mean to—”

you were just as dazed, your heart still pounding, your lips still tingling from the kiss. “it’s... it’s okay,” you said, though the words felt hollow. the kiss had left you reeling, and you weren’t sure what to think, what to feel.

sunghoon’s expression twisted with regret, his hands falling away from your waist as he stepped back. “we shouldn’t have—” he shook his head, his face pale. “i crossed a line.”

you swallowed hard, feeling the tension between you shift into something heavier, something filled with confusion and guilt. “maybe we should forget this happened,” you whispered, though the weight of the kiss still lingered in the air.

he nodded, his expression tight, though the pain in his eyes was unmistakable. “yeah. let’s... forget it.”

but neither of you could. the kiss, the way his hands had held you, the way your heart had raced—it was etched into the fabric of your friendship now, impossible to untangle.

word had spread quickly about sunghoon's exceptional craftsmanship. it began with whispers among the town’s elite, impressed with the stunning gown he had created for you, and soon, nobles from far and wide were flocking to his workshop, eager to have their own garments custom-made by his skilled hands. what had once been a modest business now thrived under the weight of new orders, with sunghoon’s talent finally receiving the recognition it deserved.

every day the workshop buzzed with activity—fine fabrics and intricate patterns sprawled across every surface, and sunghoon worked tirelessly, sketching designs, selecting fabrics, and stitching together dreams. you often found yourself there, as his muse, watching as he brought these creations to life, offering input or simply keeping him company through the long hours. his success was yours to share, and you couldn’t have been more proud.

one day, a letter arrived from the royal palace itself. the princess had heard of sunghoon’s work and requested him personally to craft a gown for her upcoming ball. the letter was written in elegant script on fine parchment, a formal request for his presence at the palace to discuss the details of the gown. when he read it aloud to you, you could hardly contain your excitement.

“sunghoon, this is incredible!” you exclaimed, beaming at him as he held the letter in his hands. his eyes shone with a mixture of pride and disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

“it’s surreal,” he admitted, glancing at you with a smile that warmed you from the inside out. “i never thought i’d be making dresses for royalty.”

“you deserve it,” you said earnestly, feeling your heart swell with admiration for him. “you’ve worked so hard, and now everyone can see just how talented you are.”

sunghoon’s smile faltered for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes as he looked at you. “i couldn’t have done it without you,” he said softly. there was a weight to his words, a depth of feeling that you felt but couldn’t quite name. your heart skipped a beat, but before you could respond, he turned away, folding the letter carefully.

the trip to the palace was an experience neither of you would forget. the sprawling estate, the opulence of the interiors, the sense of awe that filled you as you walked through the grand halls—it was like stepping into another world. sunghoon had been invited to meet with the princess and discuss her gown, and as his muse and close friend, you accompanied him.

the princess was gracious and kind, and she spoke with sunghoon about the design she envisioned, praising his previous work. throughout the conversation, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him, watching the way he carried himself with quiet confidence, his artistic mind already turning over the details of the gown in his head. it was hard not to feel a swell of pride, knowing you had played a part in his journey to this moment.

afterward, when the order had been placed and the royal commission secured, sunghoon suggested you both celebrate the occasion.

the restaurant was warm and cosy, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, far removed from the grandeur of the palace. the two of you had shared many meals together over the years, but tonight felt different. the weight of sunghoon’s newfound success hung in the air between you, the knowledge that his life—your lives—were changing in ways you hadn’t fully anticipated.

you sat across from him, toasting to his success with glasses of wine, laughter bubbling up as you reminisced about old times. “do you remember the time we tried to make that dress for my cousin’s wedding, and the fabric tore right before the ceremony?” you said, laughing as you recalled the chaos.

sunghoon chuckled, shaking his head. “how could i forget? i thought i was finished as a tailor before i even started.”

“but you saved it in the end,” you said, your smile softening as you looked at him. “you’ve always had this way of making things beautiful, even when they seem impossible.”

his laughter faded, and for a moment, there was a lingering silence between you. his gaze met yours, and the atmosphere seemed to shift—something unspoken hung between you, thick and heavy like the summer air. the warmth from the wine and the closeness of the moment made it difficult to focus on anything else but him—the way the candlelight flickered against his features, the way his eyes softened when they lingered on you just a little too long.

he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “you know, this success… it’s more than i ever thought possible. and i don’t think i could have done it without you by my side.”

his words struck a chord deep within you, the intensity in his eyes making your breath hitch. there it was again—that undercurrent of something more, something that had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to break free.

your heart pounded in your chest as you leaned in slightly, your faces just inches apart. the air between you crackled with anticipation, the proximity sending sparks down your spine. you could feel the warmth of his breath, the space between you narrowing with every passing second. your eyes locked, and in that moment, it felt like the world had fallen away.

the moment stretched on, and you could feel your heart racing, your pulse thundering in your ears. he was so close now, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, close enough that all it would take was one small movement, one tiny step forward, and—

“i’m getting married,” you blurted out, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them.

sunghoon froze, his eyes widening in shock. the spell between you shattered, and you immediately regretted speaking, but there was no taking it back now. the air between you went cold, and you felt your stomach drop as the weight of your announcement settled over the table like a heavy blanket.

“what?” his voice was low, strained, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he had just heard.

you swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “my parents... they’ve arranged a marriage for me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “i’m engaged.”

the silence that followed was deafening. sunghoon stared at you, his expression unreadable, though you could see the flicker of pain in his eyes. his jaw clenched slightly, his hand tightening around his glass as if he were trying to steady himself.

“when?” he finally asked, his voice tight, controlled.

“the date hasn’t been set yet,” you admitted, feeling your throat tighten with guilt. “but... soon.”

sunghoon sat back in his chair, his gaze dropping to the table. for a long moment, he didn’t say anything, the silence between you stretching into something unbearable. you could see the conflict in his eyes—the hurt, the frustration, the confusion. the tension that had been building between you for weeks, months even, was now thick with an unspoken finality.

finally, he looked up at you, his eyes dark and clouded with emotion. “congratulations,” he said quietly, though the word felt hollow, like it had been ripped from him unwillingly.

your heart sank, a wave of disappointment washing over you. you had expected... well, you didn’t know what you had expected. for him to fight for you, maybe, to protest or say something that would change everything. but instead, all you got was a distant, polite congratulations.

“sunghoon—” you started, but he shook his head, cutting you off.

“i’m happy for you,” he said, though the strain in his voice betrayed his true feelings. “i’m sure he’s a good man.”

the words stung, more than you had anticipated, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep ache in your chest. this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. but what could you say? you were engaged, and he... he was congratulating you, just as any friend would.

“yeah,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible. “thanks.”

but neither of you was happy, and you both knew it.

the walk back home felt heavier than usual. the excitement and easy flow of conversation that had filled the night seemed to dissipate into an awkward, thick silence. sunghoon walked beside you, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, eyes focused on the road ahead. normally, you’d both talk about everything and nothing—jokes, shared memories, or the latest designs he had been working on. but tonight, every step felt strained, as if the unspoken words were choking both of you.

you could feel the weight of what had happened at the restaurant still hanging between you, as if the tension you hadn’t acted on had only grown with your admission. sunghoon had insisted on walking you home, just as he always did, though the usual warmth in the gesture felt distant now. neither of you had tried to break the silence, though you kept stealing glances at him out of the corner of your eye.

his face was unreadable, lips pressed into a thin line as he walked with an unusual stiffness. you wanted to say something, to break the thick silence, but no words came. the engagement had changed everything between you, and you hated how powerless it made you feel. there was a dull ache in your chest as you watched him struggle with the weight of emotions he clearly wasn’t ready to share.

when your house came into view, you slowed your steps, almost wishing the walk could last just a little longer. but it didn’t. you reached your doorstep, and just as you were about to thank sunghoon for the walk, the door swung open.

your mother appeared, her face lighting up the moment she saw the two of you standing there. “sunghoon! what a surprise!” she exclaimed warmly, stepping out and pulling him into an embrace before he could protest. “you look so well!”

sunghoon smiled politely, though you could tell he was caught off guard by her enthusiasm. “good evening, ma’am. i was just walking your daughter home.”

your mother beamed, glancing at you with that knowing look of hers. “he always does, doesn’t he?” she teased lightly. “such a good boy.”

“mama...” you muttered, feeling embarrassed.

but your mother wasn’t finished. “come in, come in! you can’t just leave him standing outside like that,” she scolded, ushering sunghoon into the house before either of you could object. you shot him an apologetic look, but he waved it off with a small smile as he followed her inside.

the warmth of your home enveloped you both, the familiar scent of dinner lingering in the air. your father was sitting by the fire, and when he saw sunghoon, his face brightened. “ah, there’s the young tailor everyone’s talking about! come, sit with us.”

sunghoon looked between you and your parents, clearly not wanting to intrude, but it was hard to refuse the hospitality of your family. you watched as he settled into one of the chairs near the fire, his polite smile fixed in place, though you could sense the unease in his posture.

your mother sat beside him, clasping his hands in hers as she looked at him with pride. “sunghoon, i’ve heard such incredible things about your work lately. everyone is talking about you, and we couldn’t be more proud.”

you could see the discomfort in his eyes as your mother’s words began to feel more like a reminder of the distance between you. he offered her a tight smile. “thank you. it’s been... unexpected.”

“and well deserved!” your father chimed in. “we always knew you’d make something of yourself, ever since you were little.”

your mother nodded eagerly, her gaze softening as she looked at him fondly. “we’ve seen you grow up alongside our daughter, sunghoon. you two have always been so close... practically inseparable.”

you stiffened at the words, knowing what was coming next.

“which is why,” your mother continued, glancing at you briefly before turning back to sunghoon, “it’s been so hard for her, this whole engagement business.”

your stomach twisted. the topic you had been dreading was now out in the open, and you didn’t miss the way sunghoon’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. he was trying to stay composed, but the flicker of surprise in his eyes was unmistakable.

“she’s protested quite a bit, hasn’t she?” your mother added, her tone half-amused, half-concerned.

sunghoon’s eyes darted toward you, his surprise evident. you could see the confusion in his expression as he processed your mother’s words. you hadn’t said yes to the engagement? not fully? he had assumed you had accepted it without question, but now...

you averted your gaze, feeling your cheeks flush under the weight of both his and your parents’ attention. you hadn’t exactly fought against the engagement with much force either. it was an unspoken understanding between you and your family that the marriage would happen eventually, even if your heart wasn’t fully in it. but now, seeing sunghoon’s expression shift, you could see the conflict in his eyes.

your mother continued on, oblivious to the tension now thick in the air. “it’s just nerves, of course. every girl feels a bit uncertain before a big step like this.” she smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “she’ll come around.”

you wanted to protest, to say something that would dispel the awkward silence stretching between you and sunghoon, but the words caught in your throat. instead, your mother’s next words hit like a hammer, unknowingly driving the wedge deeper.

“actually,” she began, her voice suddenly filled with excitement, “we were hoping you could help us with something, sunghoon.”

he blinked, taken aback by her tone. “of course, ma’am. what is it?”

“well,” she said, glancing at you with a grin, “who better to make our daughter’s wedding dress than the most talented designer in town?”

the room felt as if it had dropped several degrees, the weight of her request pressing down on all of you. you felt your stomach churn, a sinking feeling of dread settling in. you hadn’t expected this—he hadn’t expected this. you watched as sunghoon’s expression faltered for the briefest moment, his composure slipping as the full impact of your mother’s words hit him.

make your wedding dress. your wedding dress.

he smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “i’d be honored,” he said quietly, his voice strained.

your mother clapped her hands together, beaming with delight. “oh, that’s wonderful! i knew we could count on you, sunghoon.”

he stood up then, a sudden stiffness in his movements. “thank you for your kindness,” he said, his voice more formal now. “but it’s late, and i should be going.”

your mother stood as well, ushering him toward the door with a fond smile. “of course, of course. but we must meet soon to discuss the dress!”

sunghoon nodded, his gaze avoiding yours as he headed for the door. you followed behind in silence, the heaviness between you both suffocating.

at the doorstep, he paused, his hand resting on the doorframe as he turned to face you one last time. there was something broken in his expression, a quiet sadness that you couldn’t quite place. for a moment, it seemed as if he might say something—something real, something raw—but then, he simply nodded.

“good night,” he whispered, before turning and walking away.

as you watched him disappear into the night, your heart ached with the words left unsaid, the feelings unspoken, and the love you both were too afraid to fight for.

as sunghoon walked through the dimly lit streets, the cool night air did little to ease the storm brewing inside him. each step echoed in the stillness, but his mind was anything but calm. the evening had turned from tense excitement into a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest.

he replayed your mother’s words over and over in his mind: “who better to make our daughter’s wedding dress than the most talented designer in town?” the words had cut deeper than any blade, the cruel irony of it all making his heart twist painfully. he had dreamed of crafting something beautiful for you, yes, but never like this. not for someone else’s wedding. not for the marriage that would take you away from him.

sunghoon clenched his fists, his knuckles white as his nails bit into his palms. a marriage. to someone else. he could barely picture it, the idea so foreign and painful that it seemed absurd. but the reality was right there, looming in front of him like an unstoppable force. he had always known that this day would come. you were from a noble family, destined to marry someone of status. and him? he was a tailor, nothing more. his growing reputation in town meant little in comparison to the weight of your family’s expectations.

it’s for the best, he told himself, over and over, like a mantra he hoped would dull the pain. your life with that man—whoever he was—would be easier, more secure. you’d live the life you were meant to lead, filled with luxury, stability, and everything a noblewoman deserved. sunghoon had nothing to offer in comparison. even with his recent success, his craft could never provide you with the life that an arranged marriage could.

sunghoon’s pace quickened, the weight of his emotions making it harder to breathe. his mind whirled with a painful realization: it’s better this way. he had no right to confess his feelings to you now. no right to complicate your life any further. you were getting married, and he had to respect that. confessing his love wouldn’t change anything—it would only hurt you more, and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the cause of your pain.

he thought of the way you had looked at him tonight, how your eyes had softened when you admitted that you hadn’t agreed to the marriage yet. the flicker of hope that had briefly ignited in his chest had been swiftly extinguished by the cold voice of reason. you deserved better than him, better than a life filled with uncertainty and struggle. and even though it tore him apart inside, sunghoon knew he had to let you go.

she’ll be happier without me. the thought twisted like a knife in his heart, but he held onto it like a lifeline. it was easier to believe that than to face the truth—that he was simply too afraid. too afraid to fight for you, too afraid of what loving you truly meant. because if he did confess, if he asked you to choose him, what then? you would have to give up your life of comfort, your family’s support, and the future they had planned for you. and what if you regretted that decision later? what if he couldn’t be enough for you?

no. he wouldn’t let that happen. he couldn’t risk it.

by the time sunghoon reached his workshop, his heart was heavy with the decision he had made. he stepped inside, the familiar smell of fabric and wood filling the space around him, but it no longer brought him any comfort. he stood in the dim light, surrounded by the tools of his trade—the very things that had brought him success—and felt nothing but emptiness.

he wouldn’t confess. he couldn’t.

because he loved you too much to ask you to settle for less.

the tension between you and sunghoon hung in the air like a thick fog, clouding everything you had once held dear.

he avoided you, not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. each passing day, you found yourself hoping—desperately—that he would come to you, that he would say something to stop the impending wedding. but instead, sunghoon pretended to be okay. he carried on with his work, his life, as if the confession hadn’t happened. as if you hadn’t bared your soul to him and he hadn’t done the same. he buried his emotions, putting on that same calm, controlled front, and it drove you mad.

he wouldn’t fight for you.

your heart ached with the realisation, and it became painfully clear during the next few days that sunghoon had no intention of changing the course of things. the silence between you both was unbearable, the distance growing wider with each passing moment. and just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, your parents made it worse.

they scheduled an appointment with sunghoon for the most painful task yet: designing your wedding dress.

the irony of it was too cruel. sunghoon, the man who knew every inch of you, who had memorised your shape, your measurements, who had held you so intimately in his arms, was now tasked with crafting the gown you would wear as you married someone else. it was the final blow, the final insult, to a relationship that had been ripped apart by circumstances you couldn’t control.

when the day of the appointment arrived, you found yourself standing outside his workshop, dread pooling in your stomach. you didn’t want to go inside. you didn’t want to face him, not after everything that had happened, and certainly not for this.

with a deep breath, you pushed the door open, stepping into the familiar space that now felt cold and foreign. sunghoon was already there, standing by his work table with rolls of fabric laid out in front of him, but the usual warmth in his eyes was absent. he looked up when you entered, his expression neutral, professional. he greeted you with a small nod.

“let’s get started,” he said, his voice low, as if he too was trying to suppress the emotions that lingered just beneath the surface.

you could barely look at him. the air was thick with tension, and you forced yourself to speak, though your voice came out flat, distant.

“i don’t even know why i’m here,” you muttered, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “this is just… a formality.”

sunghoon’s eyes flickered briefly with something—hurt, maybe—but he masked it quickly. “your parents want you to have the perfect dress. it’s important to them.”

the atmosphere inside sunghoon’s workshop felt suffocating. you sat rigidly on a small chair, staring at the neatly folded fabrics in front of you while sunghoon prepared his tools. everything about the moment felt forced, mechanical, nothing like the ease and flow of your previous sessions together. you didn’t want to be there. and you were making it painfully clear.

sunghoon turned to face you, holding a few sketches in his hand, his face expressionless. but you could sense the tension in the air, the unspoken pain that lingered between you both. he wasn’t the same, and neither were you.

“so,” he began, keeping his voice calm and professional, “do you have any preferences for the neckline? maybe something you’ve always liked?”

you shrugged, not even looking up at him. “don’t know. don’t care.”

his brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing, nodding as if that response was perfectly normal. he glanced down at the sketches again, adjusting the paper. “okay… how about the fabric? i was thinking something soft, maybe silk? or—”

“whatever,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “doesn’t matter.”

sunghoon paused, his eyes lingering on you for a moment. you could feel his gaze, heavy with concern, but you refused to meet it. you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how hurt you were, how badly you wanted him to say something, anything, that would change this.

he sighed quietly, turning back to his worktable. “i just want to make sure it’s perfect for you,” he said softly, his voice gentle but strained. “this is an important day…”

you clenched your jaw, the words digging into your heart like shards of glass. an important day? for who? certainly not for you. he kept talking about the wedding as if it were inevitable, as if you were excited about it, and it made your blood boil.

“what about the waistline?” he asked again, forcing the conversation to continue. “something fitted, or maybe a bit more relaxed?”

“i don’t care,” you replied tersely, your tone sharp. “you’re the expert, right? just do whatever.”

the silence that followed was deafening. sunghoon stood still for a moment, his hands resting on the fabrics, his back to you. you saw the slight slump in his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the edge of the table just a little too tightly, and for a second, you almost regretted your words.

but the frustration bubbling inside you wouldn’t let up. you had come here hoping, praying, that he would give you a reason to stop the wedding, that he would fight for you. instead, you were sitting here discussing necklines and fabric as if everything was perfectly fine, as if you weren’t on the verge of losing everything.

he turned back around, this time holding a measuring tape. “let’s… start with your measurements,” he said, his voice sounding tired, defeated.

you stood up reluctantly, moving toward him, your movements stiff and reluctant. you stood there in the middle of the room, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest.

sunghoon stepped closer, the tape measure in his hands, and for a moment, you both stood in silence, the tension between you thick and suffocating. his proximity felt overwhelming, but this time, it wasn’t filled with the same spark as before. instead, it was heavy, burdened with all the things you both refused to say.

he hesitated for a second before gently wrapping the tape around your waist. his fingers brushed lightly against your skin, but there was no tenderness in the touch. it was robotic, methodical, like he was forcing himself to distance every part of him from you.

“what about the sleeves?” he asked quietly, trying to fill the silence. “long or short?”

“whatever,” you snapped. “it doesn’t matter. none of this matters.”

sunghoon froze for a moment, his hands stilling against your waist. the silence stretched between you, thick with unresolved tension, before he pulled away, the tape measure slipping from his fingers. he turned to face you, his expression strained, frustration and confusion swirling in his eyes.

“what’s going on with you?” he finally asked, his voice low but firm. “why are you acting like this?”

you stared at him, your chest heaving with a mix of anger and sorrow. his question was the breaking point, the floodgates that had been holding everything back bursting open all at once.

“why am i acting like this?” you repeated, your voice trembling with emotion. “because you’re standing here, pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not!”

sunghoon’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing, his eyes searching yours for an explanation.

“this dress… this wedding… none of it matters to me!” you continued, your voice growing louder with every word. “i don’t want this. i never wanted this. and you know it, sunghoon. you know it better than anyone!”

he opened his mouth to respond, but you didn’t let him. the words kept pouring out, all the frustration and pain you had been bottling up for weeks finally spilling over.

“i’ve been waiting for you to say something, to do something—anything—that would make me stop this wedding. but you’ve just been standing there, acting like this is what i want when you know it isn’t!” your voice cracked, your hands trembling at your sides. “why won’t you say anything? why won’t you fight for me?”

sunghoon stared at you, the weight of your words hitting him like a punch to the gut. he looked down, his shoulders sagging as if the burden of everything you had just said was too much to bear.

“i… i thought this was what you wanted,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “i thought you deserved someone better than me. someone who could give you everything i can’t.”

you felt your heart clench painfully in your chest, the ache of his words almost unbearable. “that’s not for you to decide!” you shot back, your voice breaking. “you think i care about any of that? i don’t. i never did. the only thing i care about is you.”

the silence that followed was thick with raw emotion. sunghoon stood there, his expression torn, his hands trembling at his sides. he looked like he wanted to say something, like he was finally ready to fight, but the fear in his eyes held him back.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “i’m so sorry.”

the apology shattered whatever was left of your composure. you turned away, not able to stand the sight of him any longer.

“i don’t want to wear a wedding dress if it’s not for you,” you said quietly, tears brimming in your eyes. you swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to leave, your heart breaking with every step you took toward the door.

sunghoon didn’t try to stop you. he just stood there, broken, as you walked out of his life.

it was the dead of night, the streets shrouded in silence, broken only by the soft crunch of your hurried footsteps on the cobblestone path. you didn’t look back. you couldn’t. not when you had finally made your decision. with nothing but the small bags clutched in your hands, you walked with purpose, heart pounding as you made your way toward sunghoon’s home.

the weight of the evening air pressed against your skin, thick with the lingering tension that had been suffocating you for days. since that fateful conversation at his workshop, the ache in your chest had only deepened, every moment spent away from him gnawing at you. there was no escaping it. you couldn’t go through with the marriage. not when you knew where your heart truly lay.

the small house loomed ahead, a single dim light flickering from the window, signalling that sunghoon was still awake. your pulse quickened, the gravity of what you were about to do hitting you all at once. you were throwing away everything—your family’s expectations, your arranged marriage, the life you had been destined to live—all for him. and yet, none of it scared you.

because sunghoon was worth it. he was the only thing you wanted.

you reached the door, your breath shallow as you hesitated for a split second, your heart hammering in your chest. then, without another thought, you raised your hand and knocked.

a few moments passed, the silence inside the house dragging on like an eternity before you heard soft footsteps approaching. the door creaked open, revealing sunghoon standing there, his hair tousled, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw you standing there, drenched in moonlight, with your bags in hand.

“y/n?” his voice was laced with confusion, concern flickering across his features as he glanced between you and the bags at your side. “what are you—what’s going on?”

you didn’t answer right away. instead, you stepped forward, crossing the threshold into his home without invitation, leaving him to close the door behind you. the room was dimly lit, casting soft shadows across the familiar space where so much of your time together had unfolded. it felt both comforting and surreal to be here now, on the brink of something monumental.

“i couldn’t do it,” you said at last, your voice barely a whisper but filled with determination. “i couldn’t marry him, sunghoon.”

he stood there, frozen, his brow furrowing in confusion. “what do you mean? the wedding—it’s—”

“i don’t want to marry him,” you interrupted, turning to face him fully, your eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made your heart race. “i don’t want any of this. the wedding, the life my parents planned for me—it’s not what i want. it’s never been what i wanted.”

sunghoon’s breath hitched, his confusion deepening, but you could see the glimmer of hope slowly dawning in his eyes. “then… what are you saying?”

you dropped your bags to the floor and stepped closer to him, the raw emotion swirling inside you finally breaking free. “what i’m saying is that i’m here, right now, because i’m choosing you, sunghoon. all i’ve ever wanted is you. i thought—i hoped—you’d feel the same. but you never said anything. and i can’t keep waiting.”

his eyes widened, a storm of emotions flashing across his face. he looked torn between disbelief and longing, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out.

“i know you think i deserve better,” you continued, your voice growing more urgent, your hands trembling slightly as you reached out to him, “but i don’t care about that. i don’t care about anything except you. all i wanted—all i ever wanted—was for you to tell me you felt the same. to fight for me.”

sunghoon swallowed thickly, his eyes locked on yours, and for the first time since you had shown up, he looked utterly vulnerable. “i do… i do feel the same, y/n. i’ve always felt the same. but i thought—” his voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “i thought you’d be better off without me. i was afraid i’d ruin your life if i held you back from everything you deserve.”

you shook your head fiercely, your heart pounding. “you’re wrong. you never would have ruined anything. the only thing that’s been ruining me is the thought of losing you.”

tears welled up in his eyes, his composure crumbling as the weight of his emotions finally caught up to him. he took a step closer, his hands reaching out to gently cup your face. his touch was warm, familiar, filled with the tenderness that had been missing for so long.

“y/n,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “i don’t deserve you… but i can’t let you go.”

your breath caught in your throat as the distance between you vanished. his hands trembled slightly against your skin, but the intensity in his gaze spoke volumes. you could feel the raw need, the longing that had been suppressed for too long, finally coming to the surface.

“then don’t,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “don’t let me go, sunghoon. i love you. i’ve always loved you. and i’m not going anywhere unless it’s with you.”

the words seemed to unlock something in him. without another second of hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate, passionate kiss that spoke of all the years of pent-up desire and unspoken feelings between you. it was everything you had hoped for, everything you had longed for—pure, unfiltered love.

when he finally pulled away, breathless and trembling, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes still closed, as if savouring the moment.

“run away with me,” you whispered, your hands still tangled in his shirt. “we can leave this place, start a new life. i don’t care where we go as long as i’m with you.”

sunghoon opened his eyes, searching yours for any hint of doubt, but all he saw was determination—love. a soft, disbelieving laugh escaped him, his fingers tracing the lines of your face as if committing them to memory.

“are you sure?” he asked, his voice shaking. “are you really sure about this?”

you smiled, leaning into his touch, your heart swelling with the certainty of your decision. “i’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

sunghoon closed his eyes again, pulling you into a tight embrace, as if afraid to let go. “i love you,” he murmured against your hair, his voice raw with emotion. “i’ve always loved you.”

tears of relief and joy welled up in your eyes as you buried your face in his chest, holding onto him like he was your lifeline. this was what you had been waiting for. this was all you ever needed.

“we’ll leave tonight,” he whispered, his voice resolute. “we’ll start over, just the two of us.”

you nodded, a smile breaking through the tears as you felt the weight of the world lifting from your shoulders. this was your new beginning. your future with sunghoon, the one you had always dreamed of.

and together, you knew you could face whatever came next.

the moon hung low in the sky, casting its pale glow over the winding road that stretched out before you and sunghoon. the cool night air clung to your skin as you both moved in silence, hearts pounding in unison as you left the only life you had ever known behind. with each step, the weight of your decision lifted, replaced by a thrill that sent shivers down your spine.

you glanced over at sunghoon, his face illuminated by the moonlight, a mix of determination and exhilaration playing on his features. his hand gripped yours tightly, as if afraid to let go, as if letting go would mean losing you forever. neither of you had spoken much since leaving his house, but the unspoken understanding between you was stronger than ever.

the path ahead was unknown, but that no longer frightened you. in fact, it excited you.

as you crested the hill that overlooked your town, you both stopped for a moment, turning to take in the view one last time. the place where you had grown up, where your families lived, where your life had been planned out for you—it all felt so distant now, like a world you were no longer part of.

you turned to sunghoon, a soft smile tugging at your lips despite the enormity of what you were doing. “so… where are we going?”

he turned to look at you, his eyes filled with that familiar spark of ambition you had always admired. “there’s a city,” he began, his voice low and steady. “a place i’ve always dreamed of going. it’s known for fashion, for artisans, for people like me who want to make a name for themselves.”

you could see the excitement dancing in his eyes, the dream he had always kept close to his heart. “i’ve heard of it,” you said, your smile growing. “you’re talking about sorina, aren’t you?”

he nodded, his grip on your hand tightening. “yes. it’s always been my dream to open my own studio there. to create something that’s entirely mine. but… i never thought i’d actually go. i didn’t think i’d have the chance.”

your heart swelled with pride and affection as you looked at him. “well, now you do,” you said softly. “and you’re not going alone.”

his expression softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you—really looked at you, as if he still couldn’t believe this was happening. then, with a quiet laugh, he pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair. “i don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.

you smiled against his chest, wrapping your arms around him. “you’re wrong. you’re everything i deserve.”

with one final glance at the town behind you, the two of you turned and began your journey to sorina, the city of dreams. the road ahead was long, but the promise of a new life with sunghoon made every step feel lighter. the thought of him creating masterpieces, of you being by his side as his muse, filled you with a hope you had never known.

and as the two of you settled into your new life in sorina, that peace only grew. sunghoon’s dreams were coming to life with every stitch, every sketch. he was thriving in a way that you had always known he could, and you were there to see it all. your role as his muse was more than a job or a title—it was the culmination of your deep connection, your bond that had grown through years of friendship and love unspoken.

there were moments when the thought of your parents crossed your mind. the guilt of running away lingered in the back of your heart at times, knowing how much they had hoped for you to marry into the match they had chosen. you wondered if they were angry, disappointed, or hurt by your decision. but as days turned into weeks, those worries faded. you knew your parents—they loved you too much to hold on to their disappointment forever.

"i’m sure they’ll forgive me," you said one evening, resting your head on sunghoon's shoulder as you both watched the busy city streets from your studio. "they’ll come to understand… eventually."

sunghoon looked at you, his eyes searching your face for any signs of doubt. “you really think so?”

you nodded, smiling softly. “i know they will. they’ve always wanted me to be happy. and when they see how happy we are… when they see all you’ve achieved, they’ll realise we made the right choice.”

he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering against your cheek. “i hope so,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with warmth. “i just want you to have everything you deserve. i want them to see that.”

“they will,” you reassured him, your voice soft but firm. “they’ve known you all your life, sunghoon. they know how hard you’ve worked. they’ll see why i chose you. why we chose each other.”

sunghoon’s lips curved into a small smile, one that made your heart flutter. “we’ll make a life together that’s worth showing them. one day, when they see what we’ve built, they’ll understand.”

and deep down, you knew he was right. your parents loved you, and in time, they would see the joy that your life with sunghoon brought you. they would forgive the abrupt departure, the wedding that never was. because while it wasn’t the life they had envisioned for you, it was the one you had always dreamed of.

as sunghoon’s studio grew, and as the two of you thrived in sorina, you no longer felt the weight of your decision. you had chosen love over duty, dreams over expectations. and in the end, you knew it would all work out. one day, when the time was right, you would return to your parents—not as the daughter who had run away, but as the woman who had found her happiness.

for now, though, the life you had built with sunghoon was everything you had ever wanted. the city of fashion, the thriving studio, the man you loved—it was more than enough.

and with every stitch sunghoon sewed, every dress he designed, you were reminded that you had made the right choice. together, you had found your place in the world. and you had no doubt that the people you loved most would come to understand that too.

BONUS SCENE !

in sorina, life had unfolded beautifully, and not just for sunghoon. the city may have been known for fashion, but it was also a hub of opportunity for anyone willing to carve out their own path—and you had done just that.

while sunghoon spent his days sketching and tailoring in his studio, you found your own passion and footing in the city. before long, you’d built something of your own—a modest business in jewellery making, a craft you had dabbled in back home but now took seriously. the bustling markets of sorina were filled with artisans from every walk of life, and soon your intricately designed pieces caught the eye of locals and visitors alike.

at first, it was a hobby. a way to pass the time while sunghoon worked. but it didn’t take long for you to gain recognition. your designs, delicate yet bold, paired perfectly with the high-end garments sunghoon was crafting. your pieces began to complement his work, and you both realised the potential of collaborating together—not just in love but in business.

the two of you often worked late into the night, your small workbench tucked in the corner of his studio. sunghoon would be bent over his latest creation, needles and thread in hand, while you arranged shimmering stones and metals into intricate patterns.

“you know,” sunghoon said one evening, breaking the comfortable silence between you, “we’re going to need a bigger space soon.”

you looked up from your work, raising an eyebrow. “why’s that?”

he smirked, nodding toward the scattered jewellery and sketches of new designs littering the floor. “because you’re taking over my studio, that’s why.”

you chuckled, shaking your head as you placed a bracelet you’d been working on down on the table. “i think we both know you’re the one taking up all the space. these fabrics are everywhere.”

“touché,” he replied with a grin, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “but i’m serious. your business is growing. people are asking for your pieces specifically now. you’ve got clients lined up at the door. we can’t keep pretending this is just a side gig.”

you shrugged, but your smile betrayed your pride. “maybe. but it’s not like i’m doing this on my own. you’ve helped me a lot. half of the clients only know about my jewellery because it’s paired with your designs.”

sunghoon shook his head. “no. they come for you. you’ve worked hard to get here. don’t downplay that.”

his words warmed your heart, and you leaned back in your chair, watching him for a moment. “i guess we’ve both come a long way, haven’t we?”

he met your gaze, the familiar spark of affection lighting up his eyes. “more than i ever imagined.”

as the weeks passed, the collaboration between your jewellery and sunghoon’s garments became the talk of the city. nobles and royals who ordered dresses from sunghoon began requesting matching jewellery pieces from you. soon, you were no longer just sunghoon’s muse or his partner—you were an established name in your own right.

at events and gatherings, whispers of “have you seen her designs?” filled the halls, your name mentioned alongside sunghoon’s, but never overshadowed by it. the partnership between the two of you was equal, balanced by your mutual respect and admiration for one another’s talents. while sunghoon’s studio flourished, so did your own reputation. you set up a small stall in the heart of the city, your jewellery catching the sunlight and drawing the attention of passersby. with each new order, you found yourself standing more confidently in this new life you had built.

one evening, as the two of you sat in the now-expanded studio, reviewing orders and discussing the future, sunghoon turned to you, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

“so, what’s next for you? you’ve got clients begging for your work, you’re practically a household name now,” he teased, nudging you gently. “maybe it’s time you open your own studio, too?”

you smiled, considering his words. “maybe. i’ve been thinking about it, actually.”

sunghoon raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “oh? you’ve got plans you’re not telling me?”

you laughed softly, shaking your head. “no, nothing concrete. but i do think it’s time i take things to the next level. i want to expand, maybe hire a few apprentices. i don’t want to just make jewellery—i want to teach others how to do it, too. there’s a lot of talent in this city that deserves to be nurtured.”

he looked at you with such pride in his eyes, it made your heart swell. “you’re incredible, you know that?”

you shrugged, trying to downplay your excitement. “i’m just doing what i love.”

“and you’re damn good at it,” he said firmly. “don’t forget that.”

it wasn’t long before you made that dream a reality. you secured a space in one of the city’s artisan districts, a small but beautiful shop where you could sell your creations and train apprentices in the art of jewellery making. the shop was an extension of yourself—chic, elegant, and full of the creativity that had always been a part of you.

soon, your shop became as well-known as sunghoon’s studio. the two of you were often talked about together, not as a couple who had run away from their old lives, but as two individuals who had built something remarkable side by side.

every piece of jewellery you created had its own story, just as every dress sunghoon designed had its own flair. and while you both supported each other’s work, neither of you relied solely on the other to define your success.

the life you had built together in sorina was not just about love—it was about the dreams you had both nurtured and the independence you cherished. you were more than sunghoon’s muse. you were a creator, a designer, a businesswoman in your own right.

as the sun set over sorina, casting a warm, golden glow across the city, you stood at the threshold of your jewelry shop, taking in the scene before you. the streets were alive with people bustling between vendors, artisans displaying their wares, and musicians playing softly in the distance. your heart swelled with contentment as you looked out over the life you had built, not just for yourself, but alongside sunghoon.

the sound of footsteps broke you from your thoughts, and you turned just in time to see him approaching. his face was illuminated by the setting sun, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he drew closer. even after all this time, your heart still skipped a beat whenever you saw him. there was something about the way he carried himself, the quiet confidence, the kindness in his eyes, that always made you feel safe and cherished.

"busy day?" he asked, his voice low and familiar as he stopped in front of you, his gaze warm.

you nodded, leaning against the doorframe with a soft smile. "busier than usual. i think word is spreading faster than i expected. what about you? how’s the studio?"

he chuckled, glancing back toward his own shop down the street. "same here. we might need to start hiring more help."

you laughed softly, and the two of you stood there for a moment, soaking in the peaceful atmosphere around you. the city was beautiful in the fading light, and for a brief second, everything felt perfect. but then sunghoon shifted slightly, his eyes locking with yours, and you saw something deeper flicker in them—something that had never fully disappeared.

without a word, he reached out, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a little too long. the simple gesture sent a shiver down your spine, the air between you charged with an unspoken tension that had only grown stronger over the months.

“you’ve got a speck of something,” he murmured, his voice softer now, more intimate. “right here.”

you felt the heat rise to your cheeks as his fingers lightly grazed your skin. “thanks,” you whispered, barely able to find your voice.

sunghoon didn’t pull away immediately. instead, he stayed close, his eyes never leaving yours. there was something different in his gaze tonight—something tender, yet intense. and as you looked back at him, you felt the weight of all the moments you’d shared, the quiet yearning that had simmered between you since the day you’d arrived in this city together.

“do you ever think about… everything?” he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness. he didn’t have to explain further. you both knew exactly what he meant.

you swallowed hard, your heart racing. “i do,” you admitted quietly. “every day.”

his hand slipped down to your waist, tentative at first, as if testing the waters. but when you didn’t pull away, he drew you in closer, until your bodies were nearly touching, the warmth of his chest radiating against yours. you could feel the rise and fall of his breath, and it was intoxicating.

“i never imagined…” sunghoon’s voice was barely a whisper now, his lips close to your ear, sending another wave of shivers down your spine. “that we’d end up here. together.”

you leaned your forehead against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you took in his scent—so familiar and comforting. “me neither.”

for a long moment, you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, neither of you daring to move or speak. the world outside seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you, suspended in time.

and then, without warning, sunghoon pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up with his fingers, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“i love you,” he whispered, the words escaping him like they’d been held back for far too long. “i’ve always loved you.”

your heart stopped, the confession hanging in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. you had known it, felt it, but hearing the words out loud still sent a rush of emotion through you.

“i love you too,” you replied softly, the words coming out as naturally as breathing.

sunghoon smiled—a slow, tender smile that reached his eyes. and before you knew it, he was leaning in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was soft at first but quickly grew more passionate. it was as if all the years of longing, of unspoken feelings and missed opportunities, had finally culminated in this moment.

you melted into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer. his lips were warm and gentle, yet insistent, and you could feel the depth of his emotions in every touch. the world spun around you, but all you could focus on was him—the way his lips moved against yours, the way his hands held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

when you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, sunghoon rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the evening.

“i don’t want to wait anymore,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “we’ve waited long enough.”

you nodded, your heart swelling with a sense of certainty you hadn’t felt in a long time. “neither do i.”

you smiled, feeling a deep sense of peace settle over you. the future felt bright, and for the first time, you could see it clearly—both of you, side by side, not just as lovers but as equals. you were no longer running away from the life you didn’t want. instead, you were running toward the life you had built together, filled with love, passion, and the promise of a beautiful tomorrow.

you weren’t just sunghoon’s muse. you weren’t just a girl who had fallen in love. you were a woman who had taken control of her destiny, and now, with sunghoon by your side, you were ready for whatever the future held.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

taglist: @punchbug9-blog @firstclassjaylee @capri-cuntz @addictedtohobi @jaysfavoritegirl (the rest will be tagged in the comments since tumblr is acting up again )

[positivelybeastly]

What have been some of your favorite rps over the years? Have you developed any personal ocs that you particularly enjoy (I know you've got Dark Beasts going on, so if you wanna talk about what's going on there, that'd be cool too!

Oh, this is a tricky one! Not least because it relies on my memory, which is one of my least reliable traits, ha - but I shall do my best!

The first one that comes immediately to mind is this thread with @themckaytriarchy - it was sort of integral to the process of my getting over what X-Force did with Beast by taking control of it, and it also just let me dive into a more horror based thread, which I don't often get to do. Beast is a character who is often very horror-aligned, so getting to really explore that was a ton of fun. I got very poetic in there, but I had a great time.

There's also this thread with the same writer, which was sort of how Cereal and I really got to be such good friends, and how Hank and Tess ended up becoming BFFs. They just had such instant chemistry and bounced off each other really, really well, and I love getting to play Hank as the best aspects of all of his selves - the more mature vibe of his feline self mixing with his younger, gremlin energy, the regret of his modern self mixing in with that, I like when I can pull on all the strings at the same time, if that makes sense.

Oh! Another one is this thread with @silverjetsystm - one of the things I absolutely love about Hank is that he knows goddamn everybody, like, the man's been on every team you can imagine, so there's always some era you can dive into, and his time on the Secret Avengers was so undeveloped, and MK-mun has just been an absolute joy to write with. You can really tell when I'm getting into a thread because I just write reams and reams and reams, and things get more poetic, and Hank starts thinking heavier and heavier things.

Easily another one is this one with @thebettermccoy - I've been wanting a good Dark Beast to bounce off for ages, to the point where I took him on as an extra muse just so he and Hank could interact and I could practise their voices, but then Squirrel-mun took the brave step to take him on, and it's been a joy ever since. It's so gratifying to get to refer to one specific issue from 1996 that no-one but me and Squirrel-mun know about, and they know the lines of dialogue just as well as I do, and we can just dig.

Another one is this one with @themarvelliteraryuniverse - I've lowkey shipped Beast and Sabretooth for years because of Wolverine and the X-Men vol. 1 #8, and getting to actually attack that dynamic and explore it and see Locke's unique take on Victor mesh with my Hank in such an instantly compelling way . . . god, it's a dream come true for me, honestly. Something that often gets lost about Hank is his inherent sexual drive and energy, his repressed primality, his morals interacting with his pull towards the dark, and exploring that is always just a complete joy.

Oooh, ooh! This one with @notmymamasboy - not only is it fun to play Hank as getting used to being pursued again, but Stabby is just so good at throwing this inescapable, unrelenting energy into Raze that makes him feel like a force of nature that Hank has immense affection for and attraction to, but, again, knows has a lot of darkness attached to them. They just bounce off each other really well, and it's probably what fandom would qualify as a crack ship, but I just like the intellectual conflict intersecting with the interpersonal chemistry.

Another one I've loved is this one with @emmatriarchy - I'm an absolute sucker for getting to fill in missing bits of Hank's history, and I always thought it was such a travesty that X-Force never tugged on the very brief but incredibly impactful time where Hank and Sage interacted in X-Treme/New X-Men, because it adds such dimension to their dynamic. Getting to explore that in-situ is a dream for me, and I also just love getting to play Hank from specific periods with specific moods, especially with gloriously obscure and underappreciated muses, with is sort of this mun's whole thing. :)

Ooh, ohh! This one, with @maximummuses - I again felt like this entire thing was swept under the rug back in the 2010s, and it felt like such a disservice to Hank and Logan that they never got to have this conversation, that they never got to just GO AT one another, everything laid out, all honesty, all feeling. This was, again, just another dream for me, and as far as I'm concerned, this is canon and exactly how it happened.

Now we get into stuff that was more dynamics, and also older threads with are, like, a decade old . . . my X-Force Beast's twisted toxic relationship with dusktrip's Wolverine was a delight, and I miss that writer very dearly (they had to stop RPing due to a lack of time) because it let me just drown in a very dark place for a bit in a very controlled way. They, like themckatriarchy, were integral to me coming to terms with what X-Force did with Hank's character.

There are tons of threads with people like brandisnotmygivenname (Abigail Brand), technarchology (Warlock), hulksdontdoweak (She-Hulk), this-city-is-a-symphony (Dazzler), fangedfirecracker (Jubilee), levoleurcinetique (Gambit), healingtheassassins (Elixir), dontcallmejulio (Rictor) - a lot of people from nearly a decade ago who aren't active anymore, but I still think of them a lot, and a lot of the time, I have to remember that Hank's dynamics and history with these people in canon don't necessarily include these versions of the characters, ha.

But, very formative to my interpretation and exploration and journey with Hank.

As for OCs - I'm sort of a one fictional obsession kinda guy, so I don't really have too many! I did have a guy called Danny Jones who was a mutant based on Tito Bohusk from New X-Men. He was from a Young Avengers RP ages and ages ago, and I think at one point he was going to become a Ghost Rider? It was a long time ago, in fairness.

I also have an AU version of Hank called Sir Henry, codenamed Grandmaster, who's inspired by the Ghost Box steampunk version of Hank and Sublime. Instead of being a scientist, he's a Victorian era spymaster with Hank's typical intelligence, but a lot less of his warmth and ethical consideration. He tended to dual wield pistols a lot.

I actually still have some art a friend of mine did from the Exiles RP he came from. This is her OC, Joan, with whom he had a budding romance.

But, as of late, the biggest one has been The Irredeemable Beast, which has spawned a number of characters, the most significant of which is Zeke.

Zeke has always been a clone of Dark Beast, in my conception of him. I always figured that Dark Beast would absolutely be the type of person to keep spare clone bodies around because, frankly, he keeps wagging his ass at people who are stronger than him and can kill him, and the fact that he kept dying and coming back diminished only solidified to me that he would eventually kick the bucket and need an out.

The version of him in Irredeemable is altered slightly, in that he's a recently created clone of Dark Beast - in the original chain of events, he was released as a kid, along with a twin brother, Strauss, and they grew up relying on each other, eking out a meagre existence by living between the lines. They had full lives, but obviously severely disadvantaged, and hated Dark Beast whenever he was around because, well, why wouldn't they?

Zeke's fun to play around with just because he has a lot of Hank/Dark Beast's perception and wit, but he doesn't have the same level of intelligence, knowledge, privilege, or advantages, so he has a bit of a chip on his shoulder - yet he still tries to have fun, which is very Hank. He's a good grounding presence, which is why I decided to make him a central part of Irredeemable, and I have a good few plans for his arc going forward from Dark Beasts.

His narrative arc is sort of meant to tackle a big problem I had with both X-Force and, more widely, the Krakoan resurrection system, which is the amount of wasted bodies/clones, and the lack of thought put into what's a 'real' life and what isn't.

The whole Talon/Wolverine split is treated completely differently to how the clones in X-Force of both Hank and Logan are treated, and I wanted to unpick that, question exactly what a clone's life is worth, and question why we arbitrarily decided that we put more value on Talon/Wolverine, but carving dozens of Hanks and Logans was perfectly acceptable.

Every one of those Hanks or Logans could have been a valid individual in the exact same way that Ezekiel is, and I want Hank to have to think about that, and be faced with the ethical/existential question of the lives he arbitrarily brought into existence in such a cold, mercenary fashion without any consideration for his responsibility for them.

Zeke is just a really good foil for Hank, and Hank absolutely needs a foil, because his internal monologue is fascinating, but it really can get maudlin and self-involved, so you need to break that up with some youthful 'I don't give a shit' energy, which Zeke provides in spades.

One of the other characters in Dark Beasts, Yekaterina, is a pretty minor character, but pretty much any time I come back to my long term plans for the fic, I keep wanting to give her more to do. I think it's really important to me that X-Men have human characters who are friendly and pro-mutant, who make up the other half of the mutant metaphor, because that's something the comics really did just give up on for the longest time, and it makes such a difference to have a human who's like 'no, fuck Orchis, fuck all these racists, I'm with you because it's the right thing to do.'

I also have a tendency to write exclusively dudes, so Yekaterina and Jennifer Nyles keep being given more and more to do so that I break out of that writing rut. Same thing with Olivia Ocampo, the Orchis commander in Dunfee - I explicitly gave her a Marvel branded alliterative name so that I would use her more, and I know where her story goes. I need to get on that, actually, I want to release that chapter close to Christmas if I can . . .

Gorobitz and Taft are pretty shameless Rosencratz and Guildenstern expies. I like giving goons personalities, and I think it's funny exploring the weeds of the arbitrary distinctions of anti-mutant racism through the lens of a pair of garden variety Orchis grunts. They're gonna turn up in future chapters with similar segments.

I think that covers the majority of it? There are other characters who are going to appear later on, including an Orchis agent that I want to be a bit of a surprise. The entire fic is about the ramifications of Hank's actions and dealing with them, and that agent has a backstory that is all about Hank's actions and what they meant for her, and I think he's gonna struggle not to feel like he should just let her shoot him in the head when he finds out what her deal is.

Thanks for the question! It was a really good one!

[crusaderce]

sooooo if you ever wanna know where i'm at, usually i'm lurking or doing stuff on @edenpoise ( hazbin hotel roleplay ) but imma post a few inbox stuff on here every so often. usually that gets me motivated to write in my free time!

[hazelfoureyes]

The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice (part 3)

I deadass wrote part one as a one shot. Is this what peer pressure is? I love it.

It would have been easy to forget you, your soul was his anyways so the real fun had already finished. But that pesky video hit most streamed in 24 hours, he couldn’t even walk to the butcher without hearing you scream his name from errant phones. Surely there was a way, even from hell, to finish what he started and get you out of his system.

⟢ part1♡̶sidestory♡̶part2♡̶part3♡̶part4 ⟣

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x reader, smut, soft Alastor, unprotected sex (duh?), creampie, edging a little, feelings, Valentino exists, Vox also exists, literally wrote this split screen with part 2 on the right side so I could line it up right like he does hehe, Alastor has a bad time

tag requested: @astraechos , @thekanrojimitsuri2 , @hoeforalbedo , @crazylazybabyk , @oddball08 , @lovingyeet , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it , @random-3455 , @alicehasdrowned , @des-deswain5621 , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @doctorswife221b

When Val released, ‘The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice’, it immediately went viral. The website crashed, downloads surpassed his wildest, horniest dreams.

It’s scary but also hot? ☆☆☆☆☆

Eat me Mr. Radio Demon!

I’ve never wanted to be a pussy so much in my life.

The reviews were all favorable, the comments rolling in, it was perfect.

Until Vox said it wasn’t. He had seen the video, but figured no one would care about seeing Alastor fuck anything. It wasn’t the success that got under his skin, it was the wave of positive attention it brought Alastor. Suddenly everyone was tuning in to his broadcasts, little miss princess’s hotel was busier than ever.

And it was ubiquitous. Every screen seemed to feature Alastor’s breakout role.

“I said pull it, Val!” Vox slammed his hands on Valentino’s coffee table.

“Vox, baby, you’re being really sensitive about this. I’m literally fucking piles of money right now. Actual piles of money, like, person sized piles.” Val took a drag of his cigarette, “Its good for business.”

“Would you rather fuck money, or me?” Vox’s screen glitched.

Val leaned his elbows on his knees, “That’s a really difficult question for me and I think you know that.”

“Augh! Val! Think of the big picture! That obsolete dickhead gaining attention means gaining power. And that’s bad for business.”

Val’s eyes fluttered, “What if we like, say it wasn’t him?”

Flashes of Alastor’s face fazed in and out of focus across Vox’s screen, your body flipping over, a mess of tentacles writhing.

Val took off his glasses, “Oh yeah, that’s pretty obviously him.”

“What is?” Vox’s face splintered back to the screen.

“Do you—- do you not know you’ve been like,” Val used his cigarette to gesture at Vox’s face, “just straight up playing his porno?”

Vox’s hands flew to his screen, “No! Fucking shit! What the fuck!!” He picked up a vase and threw it across the room, “Wipe it clean off the server! Delete it! Ban it’s fucking streaming! End of discussion!”

Val shrugged, he owned every bootleg distributor in the pride ring. He’d pull it and up the price threefold for illegal downloads. “Whatever you want, amorcito.”

Alastor was quite happy the video went ‘underground’ of sorts. The first month after you left, he was plagued by the sound of your voice. Everywhere he went it seemed you were screaming his name, every phone and television a conduit for you.

What really bothered him though, was the reaction others had to him. Where once sinners leapt from his path and set theirselves on fire to avoid him, now people winked and waved. It made his skin crawl. When alive, at the peak of his radio show fame, it wasn’t uncommon to have fans approach him in jazz clubs. But the decorum of 1930's jazz fans was a far cry from the brazen displays of desire from the citizens of hell.

“Perhaps I should have thought it through?” He mused.

“Ya think?” Rosie put her tea down, “Was it worth it, at least?”

He mulled the question over. Worth it? Well, he had your soul. Which is grand. But you weren’t even in hell to be called upon. What did he really get from the deal? Alastor brought his palm to his face, already feeling the blush spreading. Rosie's chuckle didn't help. He did get something. You'd been gone a month, and each day he woke up having forgot you existed. And every night he lied down to rest and imagined your eyes staring back at him. Did he want to fight you, or surrender, when he saw that look? When the silk tie had fallen from your face, slipping down your nose to reveal your intense stare...He thought his heart had stopped. For every ounce of resilience in your voice he found a pound of fury in your gaze. What poor luck Valentino had been given to receive you as an offering.

"Too soon to tell." He leaned back, finally dropping his hand.

“Well it seemed you had a good time… not that I could see much through the green glow and all that static noise. Really spoiled the climax with that move, Alastor dear."

Alastor’s eyes were saucers, “Rosie. Are you implying-,”

“What?” She drew out the word, “I thought you weren’t into those things so of course I was curious!”

He sighed, “I’m not.”

Rosie pushed the teaspoon around her cup with one finger, “Sure looked like you were.”

He crossed his arms, indignant, “You don’t have to have an appetite to enjoy a meal.”

“Message received loud and clear dear! I won’t bring up the subject again.” She cackled and changed the topic to the latest gossip around the colony.

Another night staring at the ceiling, mind ghosting over the idea of you. He felt like he his sanity was unraveling Leaving his bed, he stepped barefoot onto the grass of the swampy forest he materialized into his room when he moved in to the hotel.

With an outstretched hand, Alastor felt for your connection. He couldn’t see it, but the weight of the chain connecting your soul to him sunk into his palm. Curious, he wrapped his fingers around the invisible links and pulled.

With a soft green glow, you rose from the grass.

His breath hitched, he hadn’t expected that. “It seems our deal really did stick, didn't it?" walking towards you, Alastor dropped to his knees at your feet. You were on your side, unmoving.

His head cocked to the left, ears turned in. Alastor crawled toward you, rolling you onto your back and opening your legs. He slotted himself there, “Hellooo,” He took your face in his both of his hands, elbows resting beside your ears, “Are you… sleeping, dear?”

This is ridiculous.

Alastor inspected your face; peaceful. It was a new sight for him, he'd really only ever seen you in some kind of rage or lost in pleasure. His hand slid down your body, realizing you were in the robe still. He laughed, but realized it was for no one. "Are you really going to sleep, hmm?" He hooked his hands under your knee and brought it up around his hip.

Nothing.

"I'm starting to get offended, dear." He leaned down and whispered into the crook of your neck. "If you don't wake up-" He slid down, the robe open enough to let his breathe ghost over your stomach. He stopped. He couldn't do anything to you while you slept. It was void of any enjoyment for him. Without your reactions, it was just....pointless. While he did enjoy your performance in the studio, he was taught to show respect for those of fairer means. A sleeping partner fell into that category.

He reached beneath you and straightened your robe that had bunched there under your body. Placing your leg back down by your ankle, he began pulling the collar up and closed it snuggly.

He stood there for a second, looking over you. It worked. You're here again. His mother had taught him that the human soul was most vulnerable at night. When asleep, the soul could wander from the body and travel earth and beyond. She even said people could train themselves, and with practice, remember their journeys even after waking.

Kneeling down, Alastor pushed your hair from your face, "Don't forget. What fun is there in that?" The shadow beneath your body shimmered neon green before you were swallowed by inky darkness and Alastor was once again, alone.

After his mother died, Alastor was often alone. Most of his time, really. Well, there were people always around. But they were staff, or hangers-on, or women looking for a comfortable life. They were dancers and bootleggers and musicians. Which was fine and grand. But, they never saw him. He never let them, they never tried. He was the radio host. The great dancer. The southern gentleman. The killer. The cannibal. The deer in the woods. Not a single person ever looked at him on earth and saw him. Which was precisely what he wanted, and manufactured with his wide smile and good manners.

So when your eyes bore into him from that tacky studio set, and he felt suddenly naked in front of you, he knew you were looking at the him. You saw him.

It was worth it. Alastor was willing to admit that to himself.

Over the next couple days, he would randomly try to pull you to him. Through out the day, in different places, he would summon your soul and wait. Nothing. It confirmed his theory, your soul was only able to leave your living body while you were asleep.

In the privacy of his room, Alastor paced the space between grass and carpet. What was this feeling? Nerves? He hadn't felt nervous since he was a child.

But, what was causing him a pause, was if he summoned you and you didn't appear. Maybe it had been a fluke? Maybe for the 7th time in 3 days he would pull on that connection and be left standing there, alone.

Still.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to regain composure. Finally, he reached out for your ties to him, and pulled you into hell.

He held his breath, unconsciously.

With a glow, you appeared again before him. He was quick this time to approach you, setting beside you and leaning close to your face. Asleep.

"Is this my foreseeable future?" He asked, "Staring at you while you sleep, my doe."

Suddenly, you opened your eyes and met his. Reaching up, you grabbed him with both hands and pulled his face into yours. Your hands ran through his hair as you took him in a frenzied kiss. Alastor froze for a beat, but when your tongue licked at his bottom lip, he was brought back to the moment. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, rolling over yours and reaching as deep as he could. He felt like he could unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole. He really could, if he wanted to.

Alastor swung his leg over your body and straddled your hips. "Mon cher, you've finally joined me." His chest was rising and falling with excited breath.

"Alastor?" You tried to feel your body, but it was nowhere near you.

"Don't worry your pretty little head. You're still alive and well. I've merely borrowed your soul for the evening." He looked down at you, and finally, for the first time in what felt like months, your eyes fell to his face.

But today, they were soft and out of focus.

"Can you see me, my dear?" He leaned down slightly, trying to read the look on your face.

"Am I dreaming?"

He chuckled, "Perhaps we both are." With an exhale he wondered if he had been holding his breath this entire time. "No, this isn't a dream."

"I don't understand...but--," You lifted your arms towards him, "Should I say thank you? It was fucked, what happened." Your voice was slow, words a little slurred, "But, I'm home safe and sound now. You did what you promised me. I don't know if I'll ever see you again so...should I thank you now?"

Your tongue felt fat in your mouth, heavy and delayed.

Alastor leaned down over you, "You don't have to say anything." He used his knees to open your legs, and settled there. "Unfortunately, you've become a little worm in my mind." His hands slid under the silk robe you hadn't stopped wearing yet, "I'm hoping if I finally have you, I can...whet my appetite, and return to my normal self." He felt along your hips, hands stopping when he realized you were naked under the thin piece of fabric.

"I keep remembering," you covered your eyes with your hands, "that big hand of yours. And I realize, you never touched me past that."

He smiled, genuinely, truly, "Exactly! You understand the problem precisely. Shall we both have our fill and be done with it?"

You moved your hands to touch his ears, waiting for him to disappear at any moment, "Please. I'm so tired of missing someone I don't even know." He removed your hands, and you held them to your chest.

"My thoughts exactly, mon cher." He adjusted his hips, letting his crotch rub against your core. This was the closest he had been to you since you'd met. It was dizzying, and it felt like his skin was vibrating everywhere it met yours.

A soft moan left your throat, causing his cock to twitch in his pants. Yes, it was you. This wasn’t his standard response to such sounds. Alastor sat up, his legs bent and knees at either side of your hips. Taking one of your hands from your chest, he placed a kiss on a digit. Then another. He kissed his way down your arm.

“So gentle. Weird.” You tried to focus on him, but your mind was still cloudy. The sensations were here but also so far away, too far away, in another lifetime all together.

“Was I not gentle before, all things considered?,” he continued his way down your arm.

You let your eyes drift to the sky, stars watching you from above, “More than him.”

His mouth went dry at the mention of Val, "I am many things more than him, darling." As his lips found your neck, he took a deep breath. "I can actually take my time now. No audience." He sucked a bruise, and released you with a pop. He presented two fingers to your lips, and without thinking about it you began to suck them. While you were slipping your tongue over and between his fingers, he moved to continue a trail of kisses and nips down your right arm.

"Get them nice and wet." He watched through half lidded eyes as you licked his long fingers. He knew he needed to remove his hips from yours, but the idea pained him. Finally, he took his fingers from you and swiped them over your entrance. Your chest jumped, so he did it again. He tried to push the fingers into you, but the resistance was more than he expected. You were wet, but tight. He let his middle finger slip inside you. So soft. So warm. His shadow tendrils allowed him some feeling but not this, this was something they kept to themselves.

"When was your last time, mon cher?"

Your mind searched for memories still left behind in your body somewhere, "In hell."

"You're in hell now."

"This doesn't feel like hell." You ground your hips onto his palm, trying to get that single digit slowly moving in you to come deeper, to become more. He replied by pushing in his pointer finger, erection becoming painful already as you let out a little moan. Bending them up, he began to make long thrusts past your g-spot. His mouth long stilled on your arm, staring at your face as you whimpered into the sky.

"Look at me."

Your eyes darted to him, half open and wet. Alastor felt his patience snap. Undoing his belt and zipper, he finally freed his cock. He ran his head between your entrance to your clit , gathering your fluids on him to ease his entry. Taking both of your legs, he held them at the ankles and set them on his left shoulder. With your hips slightly raised, he pressed into you.

With a hiss you dug your fingers into the dirt, body tensing instinctively. One of his arms hugged your legs to his chest, the other was now bruising your hips as he continued to push into you. With just his head in, he began fast and shallow thrusts. Every time making more progress into your warmth. The stretch burned, but the feeling of him forcing space into you for himself just made you wetter.

Finally, he bottomed out. He had no sense to still himself, shallow thrusts gave way to long, deep plunges. Alastor's breathing was filling the space around you, mixing with your own. Leaning back, he looked down at where you two were connected.

He withdrew slowly, nearly entirely, and pushed back in. Again. And again. It was intoxicating, how he felt himself melt into you. He'd had lovers in life, but never had he been with someone without a barrier of some sorts. Be that his well placed smile or latex. He'd never fucked anyone raw before. He almost regretted not trying earlier, as the sensation of your walls and arousal sticking to his cock and thighs was breaking him. Watching himself entirely disappear inside you, he closed his eyes. Everything was so hot, so tight, would he disappear entirely? Would he lost in the pleasure your body was so effortlessly giving? Was he the unlucky one?

Alastor pushed your knees up to your chest, using his body weight to hold them down as his paced picked up. You brought your dirtied nails to your own legs, holding on tightly. Desperately you needed something to tether you to the ground, keep you still against the twitches shaking your stomach and chest. You felt with any jolt to your nerves you'd fall off the world and drift into the night.

He felt the build up, his balls tightening and drawing in, he wanted to slow down-- he wanted to bring you there first but he couldn't stop the rutting of his hips. With a whine, Alastor's forehead came to rest on yours, hips smacking into you with a wet slap. "Look at me," He commanded again, and you obeyed. One of his hands came to your chin to hold your head still, "Don't you dare look away."

Struggling to keep your eyes open, he pushed into you with one final, deep thrust. His hands came down now to the ground around you as he pushed you into the grass. Hips stuttering, cock twitching in you. You'd never let anyone cum inside you before, the sensation of heat quickly filling your cunt made you tighten around him. "Good girl", He purred, jaw tight.

He pulled back slowly before bringing his hips down, sweat sticking to his forehead where it met yours. His pace was quickly becoming brutal, a hand finding its way to that little bud of nerves of yours. With rough pressure and hurried speed his thumb drew out your orgasm. When you came, you gasped out his name, craning your neck up to ghost your lips over his open mouth. As the pleasure surged from your center, you could feel your body again. He tried to keep his eyes on your eyes, but the overstimulation of your cunt trying to wring him dry forced him to shut them.

A light shone through his eyelids, startling them open again.

"Wait-!" He watched you get pulled away from beneath him. Before he could react, Alastor was on all fours in the forest, alone. Eyes wide, he pounded his fist against the grass. He tried to summon you back to him, to drag you to him but nothing happened.

He thought he'd gone crazy. Hands came to his head, smile pained as he tried to process what he was feeling.

No.

Not enough.

Too soon.

A growl ripped through his chest. This hadn't satiated him at all. No, he was worse off now. He was starved, he had nourishment ripped from his mouth and he as angry for it. Angry to hell, to Valentino, to the conditions of owning a living soul.

He did not even attempt to rest that night. Taking his time, he had to find composure again. Alastor managed to pull himself together after several hours of self isolation. After his heart stopped racing, after his hands stopped feeling phantom skin beneath them, he calmed his smile and went about his day.

When night returned, he couldn't help but stare into the forest domain. He wanted so badly to bring you to himself, but that want was terrifying. It was overpowering him, and he couldn't accept that.

Another night left, another day passed. Husk found Alastor's cruelty to be growing, his patience giving out at the smallest perceived slight. Angel stopped engaging entirely. Charlie found herself wanting to approach him, find out why it seemed his hair was always standing on end, his eyes sharp. But, she didn't. She couldn't. Alastor would pass through the halls like a raging specter. He wouldn't slow or acknowledge anyone.

He managed a week. Satisfied with his resolve, he waited for when night fell and he was sure you'd be deep asleep, yanked your soul from your body and into him. He felt rabid, like he his brain was catching fire. Finally when you materialized before him, he grabbed your face with his hand.

"My doe?"

Just like before, you stirred, and your hands immediately went for his hair. He pulled back, "Are you awake?"

"Am I dreaming? Alastor?" You looked drunk, mind struggling to process the change in scenery. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he hovered above you, and you pulled him into a kiss. He happily returned it, hands quick to untie the robe you had taken as your own. He wasted now time in getting himself unsheathed and lined up with you, before he could enter you reached out to him, "I wanted to say--- thank you. I don't know if I'll ever really see you again."

The realization made his blood run cold. His mother's stories flooded back to him. It takes training, and time, to remember the travels of the wandering soul.

"You don't have to say anything." Alastor thrust into you, your body tense but not as resistant as before. When he was finally enveloped in you, he could feel himself calm. He didn't feel any need to be gentle this time around. He immediately set a bruising pace, digging his nails into the soft flesh of your ass as he forced your hips to meet his with every thrust. You gasped beneath him, eyes wandering up to the sky just past his head. He'd bring you to climax, wanting to drink in your expression, and to his horror as you choked out his name you were spirited away from him again.

Everyone on the floor heard Alastor's rampage. When Angel ran to get Charlie and Vaggie, they were scared to knock. With a steadying breath Charlie rapped the door, "Al? You okay in there?"

Suddenly, silence.

The door whipped open, Alastor smiling with half lidded eyes, "Why of course. What ever made you think otherwise?"

"The fuckin' sounds of carnage, maybe?" Angel looked past Alastor. The sofa shredded, coffee table in pieces. The wallpaper had been ripped down and torn to shreds. Charlie noticed the dirt under his nails, but Alastor coolly pulled his hands behind his back.

"Can I do something for you?" His tone was cold.

"I guess not, Al...," Charlie took in the damage, "Did something happen?"

Alastor smiled wider, "No," and closed the door. No one saw him the following day, which wasn't entirely unusual but it was weighing on Charlie. When Alastor finally appeared and announced he was going to Cannibal Town, she was elated. A chat with Rosie would surely bring him back to himself.

"I don't see the problem. You've got her soul, you can summon her to you, and you get a little," She searched for the word, "relief. Why do you look so pained, old friend?"

"You know better than most I have no interest in chasing women, Rosie."

"Yet..." She cocked her brow.

"It isn't about the release. I don't particularly need that. I never have." He huffed, the conversation already exhausting him, "When I would kill someone, I was God. Their life was in my hands. I took that power from them."

Rosie clicked her tongue, "And when she's in your hands?" Alastor hunched over his black coffee before remembering himself and straightening his back. "I've never seen you like this before, hun. You've got it bad, huh?"

"Personal connections like this, Rosie, are dangerous. I lost my self restraint entirely. It's a weakness." He fought to regain his smile, never knowing who could be passing by.

She tutted him, "Oh no, that's where you're wrong. The difference between a strong man and an unstoppable man is having something to care about." Rosie leaned over and set her hand on top of his, "Imagine you walked into Val's studio right now and found her like you did a couple months ago. How would you react?"

His stomach wretched forward, if he saw you today, hanging from the ceiling? The stench of Valentino's cigarette smoke clinging to your hair, the marks where his hands had made contact with you? His hand under her's tightened, claws leaving marks into the wooden tabletop. "Do you feel weak right now, Alastor?" The hair on his ears was standing straight up, his now black eyes met hers, "You sure don't look it."

He’d remembered hearing something similar before from Vaggie. Could it be true? It was a precarious ladder. If he let himself be close to someone, then the person is in turn close to him, then that person knows him intimately, and then— they are a walking soft spot. Someone could take them and torture them for information. Or, hurt them to hurt him.

But, who would dare? A fire rose in chest at the thought. What was the point of power if he couldn’t have what he wanted? If he had to answer to others about his desires? To pursue strength and status was what he wanted but if that strength didn’t afford him freedom than what good was it, really?

"I say, not that you asked," Rosie smiled and withdrew her hand, "Could be nice to have a little company now and then. Plus, better than waiting 60 years or something for her to just die." She shrugged, "Now, eat. You look like a shit."

Rosie had a point, while your existence was fragile, it was still available to him.

For awhile, he would call you nightly. Alastor would fuck you into the grass, beneath the trees, under the stars. He learned your orgasm would wake you, and he would draw it out as long as he could. He'd edge you for hours, watching you sob for your release. Slowly, your consciousness became more and more solid during your meetings.

To his relief, his hunger for your presence calmed over time. He could handle a week or even two without sharing your company, and he noticed each time you seemed to recognize him more. You'd participate more, moan louder, scream his name and squirm from the pleasure. He relished trapping you underneath his wide shoulders, pulling you onto his lap as he fucked up into you.

He wasn't fond of the few times he summoned you and you were already wet, or smelling of cologne. He'd tease, "Lonely?" and when he'd fuck his back cum into you before helping you chase your own orgasm, he'd remind you, "You're mine, little doe. No one can replace me." And he'd feel his chest swell. Others had your body for the night, but your soul was his forever. With every meeting, he felt more like himself. And the nights you were screaming his name in the forest, and his horns were looming over you as he marked you over and over as his, he felt powerful.

Some nights, he'd call you to him to just let you rest. He'd enjoy a book, or some jazz over a meal, while you lied quietly in his bed.

The days he pulled you into hell and your hair smelled of the trees, of sweat and dirt, he would be gentler. He could feel the ache in your muscles, the tan on your cheeks, and sent you back.

One such night came, where he of course took your chains in his hand and tugged. But this time, when you arrived, your face was painted with anger. You were asleep still, and even when he whispered to you, you didn't wake. You were having a nightmare, from what he could tell. He took you to his bed, and let you settle.

You stayed there until waking up again in your bed.

And every night that week, he'd bring you to his bed and go about his tasks while you fought some demons in your head. He'd never seen you have a nightmare, and began to wonder if something was happening in the overworld.

Alastor was enjoying a deer carcass in his room, humming softly to himself, when a green light erupted on the floor.

He was well aware it wasn't night anymore, and that he hadn't brought you here. With a soft smile, he left his meal and approached the light. Slowly, your body rose from the darkness there. Not just your soul.

When you looked up at him, a smile on your lips and two small doe ears on your head, he grinned, "Did you miss me terribly, my little doe?" He offered you a hand up, "Welcome home.”

༻Masterlist༺

[dollwrites]

ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪᴛʏ ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ʀᴀғᴀʏᴇʟ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!bff!reader, sex toys mentioned but not used, noise control, dub con technically ( for him… kinda TRUST THE PROCESS ) prank gone wrong for reader lol, creampie, has absolutely no spoilers or deep lore, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. HAPPY 4/20! i was gonna do some dizzy drabbles but i couldn’t get this out of my head. not proofread ( and written when i was in the clouds ) so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

what had started out as a fun prank on your best friend for revenge ended with you completely at his mercy, unbeknownst to him.

picking up around the studio wasn’t something you did too often, considering it a breach of Rafayel’s privacy, but when you got there and he wasn’t home, you let yourself inside like you usually did. you were about an hour early, anyways. you hadn’t taken two steps when you stumble over a pile of crumpled sketch paper. you scrunched your brows as you gazed around your environment. scattered brushes, broken pencils, and a canvas half-painted in the middle of the floor. you sighed; perhaps Rafayel had hit a wall with his muse and had gone for a walk on the beach. the least you could do for him, you’d decided, was to clean up a bit. after all, a clean space is a productive space, right?

that was when you came across it, left carelessly on his bed, swaddled in a sea of white sheets and the comforter. you’d never seen one in real life until this moment, and at first you mistook it for a woman asleep in his bed with her butt sticking out of the blankets— but, it was fake. a plump, nearly life sized ass sitting atop the mattress.

does Rafayel really use something like this?

you found your cheeks heated up with embarrassment when you pictured him mounting it, both of his smooth palm against the cheeks, svelte digits digging into the silicone to spread it open wide enough for him to push inside…

shaking your head to snap yourself out of the fantasy, you look around, making sure no one was around to see you get lost in your own desire for him. “S—stupid.” you muttered to yourself, stepping closer to touch the fleshiest part of it. surprisingly soft, as soft as your own skin. your brow quirks, fingers sliding to the waistband of a pair of cerulean, lace panties that adorned the faux lower body. it seemed so strange to have clothes on something that was meant to stay hidden and used in private, as if the silicone slab had been laid out meticulously…

no, Rafayel didn’t use this for his own pleasure, you decided. this was a prank. an elaborate one, but one meant to fluster you when you came over.

he was such an ass!

“Oh yeah?” you challenge under your breath, grasping the panties and tugging them off of the toy, “You want to play games? I can play, too.” determined to outprank Rafayel, you toss the panties on the bed and stash the toy beneath the bed. it was surprisingly heavy, and made a splat when it hit the surface of the floor, you had to stifle a chuckle as just hilarious this was. you didn’t want him to win, even if he wasn’t there to see it. quickly unbuttoning your pants, you discard them and the panties you were wearing, kicking them under the bed, too. then, you grab the cerulean lace and pull them on— perfect fit! you took a moment to glance in a nearby mirror, turning slightly. your ass had a similar curve and complexion, and you hoped it was enough to fool him, at least long enough for you to scare him when he least expected it. then, you climb into the bed, scrupulous as you nest your top half under a pile of blankets, the pillows resting on the top of your shoulders to hide your head. there was also the issue with your legs. it took a great amount of wrapping sheets around your thighs as you kick and squirm, before you’re finally perfectly positioned— identical to the way he’d left the fake ass, your own sticks out as if inviting him, as you wait for him to return.

at first, it had been difficult to keep yourself from jittering, too excited to see the look on his face when you jump out, effectively one-upping his lewd joke. but, as the minutes ticked on, with your entire body hidden within his bedding, you’d started to sweat, breathing in the dense air trapped under the pillows with you, and you had to readjust several times. it took so long that you were just about to give up on the prank and unbury yourself, before you heard the door open.

showtime.

you felt knots of excitement tying themselves together in your belly as you willed yourself to be as still as possible, and appear as the lifeless, silicone toy.

you could hear him moving about the studio, sighing, and your heart was starting to beat faster in your ears— you hoped that he would hurry to his room, so you could reveal yourself soon, and you could get out from under this suffocating duvet.

when he’d stepped into the bedroom, you hear the door close behind him, and you have to physically keep yourself from kicking your feet in excitement. it was almost time to scare the living daylights out of your best friend. your muscles tighten, ready to jump up, but a sound abruptly stops you.

a zipper.

you freeze, listening silently to the sound of rusting fabric. soft thuds as he kicked out of his shoes, and a whoosh that follows towards the floor.

was he undressing?

your eyes widen only when you hear a heavy breath, followed by the click of a cap. squeezing, then a low moan coming from behind you. it was Rafayel. your eyes widen. you’d never heard such a sound from his mouth, and you had a pretty good idea of what he was doing. the subtle skin slapping that started slow, but sped up shortly after, his breath getting heavier simultaneously. you realized how wrong it was to hear Rafayel pleasuring himself, especially when he didn’t know that you were there. you should really say something, open your mouth and let him know that he wasn’t alone, but when your lips parted, you couldn’t force any sound from it. you were too stunned by these sounds to give him any kind of warning. you listen, mouth agape and eyes big, staring into the headboard of his bed as he takes a few steps towards the foot of it. your mind races, realizing that he had not placed the toy on his bed for you to find it—

this had not been a toilet-humor prank that he was putting together. he simply hadn’t had the time to hide his private toys before you stumbled upon them.

to solidify this revelation, you feel one hand tracing over the shape of your ass. his fingers were warm and slick, and you nearly gasped, sealing your lips just in time for his digits to curl around the panties and tug on them, inching down your thighs. he would definitely discover you were disguising yourself as the toy when he couldn’t take them all the way off, and that thought was equally humiliating and comforting. you didn’t exactly love the idea of him finding out now, after exposing your cunt to him, and now that you’d gotten an earful of him jerking off, but at least things wouldn’t go further. Rafayel doesn’t, however, try to pull the panties down completely. instead, he seems content to leave them around your thighs, and his fingers trace upwards, slowly and skillfully, until they trace your netherlips, slathering your sex in what had to be lube, cool and wet.

oh, god. your top teeth sink into your lower lip as his fingertips swipe full laps between your folds. the pads rub against your most sensitive nub, leaving it throbbing and begging for more attention before they drag downwards, teasing your opening. he didn’t seem to notice that your cunt spasms, attempting to clamp down on his fingers, before they run another lap. he lets out a heavy breath, the sound of his palm smacking against his abdomen as he fucks his own hand in tandem to the way he was unknowingly teasing your pussy making your head spin.

this was so wrong.

you had to tell him right now.

your tiers part once more, this time determined to stop this before—

the swollen, slippery head of Rafayel’s cock rubs against your slit. one hand covers your mouth to keep any sound, words or otherwise, from escaping as you realize that it’s too late to expose yourself now. you’d look like a total creep, taking advantage of your best friend by pretending to be his sex toy. “Huh—uhh…” Rafayel emitted a low moan as he rubbed his dick against you a few more times, before planting one palm on your ass, the other holding tight to his base as he plunged inside.

it took all you had within you to not let out a cry of surprise at the sudden entry. your free hand grips the sheet so tightly you fear your nails will rip holes in it, and your toes curl beneath the mattress. Rafayel had been under the impression that he could be as rough as he wanted, because the pussy was nothing but a silicone replica, and so his rhythm was steady, deep pumping almost immediately upon bottoming out in your guts. “Fuck,” he breathes out, hips thumping against your ass, both hands grasping at it. “F—feels good… yeah,”

he was right about that, and you wished you could vocalize it. your walls fluttered about in delight as he pounded into you, his cock was longer than you’d thought it would be, the tip bold in its deep exploration, prodding against your g-spot with every, full thrust of his hips. you fought the urge to bounce back, meet his movements with equally eager grinding. instead, your eyes began to roll and your lids flittered, and the grip on your own mouth tightened to keep any of your stifled mewls and whimpers from escaping. you couldn’t, however, keep from gushing when he hit the perfect depth with his fervent stroking, and you could only hope that his thorough drenching you in lubrication would be enough to mask this.

you could hear him panting, moaning, swearing, as he fucked you with reckless abandon. his fingers digging into your warm, satin skin, his cock twitching and throbbing inside you. it was as if you felt every, single vein as they rub your walls, autographing your insides, claiming them as his as he uses you.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…!”

he was getting louder, his hips bucking more powerfully, more erratically, and the throbbing in your core was a testament to just how close to cumming he was.

you knew how wrong this was, but all rational thinking was dissipating; you were enjoying being fucked like this; greedy, careless pounding, by your closest friend too much to ruin it, now. you didn’t want to stop it, not until he was fully satiated.

“F—fuck, yeah,” Rafayel swoons, grabbing full fists of your ass, pulling your ass back to meet his hungry hip-snapping, “more, more, more!”

you couldn’t take much more, and you push your face into the mattress to keep quiet, both hands scrambling to hold on to something, squeezing the edge of the mattress with your nails sinking in— anything to relieve the pressure he was forcing as deep into you as he could. your feet wanted to kick, your back wanted to arch, and you wanted to scream out in pure pleasure, so you clung to the bed as tightly as you could in hopes that you could ride out the orgasm he was ripping from you.

he didn’t even seem to notice your twitching and subtle squirming beneath the blankets as he made you drop off and come undone, which you were thankful for, because he was too caught up in chasing his own high. “Gonna cum, gonna cum!” Rafayel was sputtering, desperately trying to get there, pressing all of his weight against your ass as he pumps a few more, deep and hard, thrusts into you before he grunts, and releases. as if he’d been pent up for quite a while, you felt a spattering of warmth, and then it spreads as he fills your belly with his essence. you nearly lose it in this moment, and almost blow your cover, your walls clamping down on his cock as he starts to retract. it felt so good to be full of Rafayel that you didn’t want him to pull out, but he does so with a ragged moan. there’s an uncomfortable emptiness that follows his abandoning of your cunt, the feeling of being fucked deep and left there, your oblivious best friend’s cum dribbling out of your used pussy as it twitches and your muscles stay tense. you knew you were leaving a small puddle on his sheets below you, but you could hear him milling around the room instead of focusing on you, now.

“Damn,” he mutters to himself, and you his phone unlock, then the rapid-fire tapping of his fingers on the keys. was he… texting?

you were answered when you heard the faint vibrating of your phone in your pants pocket, hidden under the bed. he texted you?! at first, you think he must’ve heard it, because everything went silent, and you waited for him to start shouting, but he doesn’t.

a few moments later, the door opens, and his footsteps fade as he swaggers down the corridor, satiated, and a moment later, you hear the shower turn on.

for the first time in several minutes, your muscles relax for a moment, before you swim out from your heated prison in a hurry, scrambling under the bed to grab your phone. every move you made, you could feel his release swirling around inside you and dribbling down your thighs, and you groan at the sensation, and the trail you made before you pulled the panties up to keep any more from leaving evidence. staring at the screen, panting and fucked out, your eyes barely focusing, you read the message in disbelief.

just woke up so i’m running late. stop on the way and buy lunch or something i’m starving

liar.

but you didn’t have time to dwell on the message; you get dressed as quickly as you can, what with your legs trembling like shaken jelly and your insides sore from Rafayel’s eager plowing, and hoist the fake butt back into place on top of the bed. you had to make a stealthy exit before he got out of the shower. stuffing your own panties into your pocket, you decide the best way to avoid an even stickier mess on his floor that would certainly be noticeable, you had to wear the panties meant for the doll. you could only pray he didn’t realize they’d gone missing right away, and later today when you could sneak away to the bathroom, you’d put them back in place.

so, stumbling and trying to catch your breath, freshly fucked, you leave through the sliding back door, the one that faces the shoreside, and closes it behind you to complete your escape.

once outside, you exhale deeply, lean against his car, hidden from windows’ views, to evaluate the damage, beyond the mess of him in your panties. you groan, covering your face with both hands in belated guilt.

you could never, ever tell him about this!

[jupiter-letters]

Dating Number 4/ Klaus Hargreeves would include☂️👻:

Fem! or GN! Reader TW: Brief mentions of addiction

A/N: I started Umbrella Academy a week ago and I’m obsessed, I’m almost done with season 3 and I can’t wait for season 4. I’d managed to fall in love with Robert Sheehan all over again and all that love has to go somewhere so here it is.

Waking up to little peppered kisses on your back and up your torso. If you don’t open your eyes he’ll just start blowing raspberries into your neck and on your face. Once he hears you laughing he’ll stop and flip you over. He likes being the first thing you see when you wake up. Some days are a little more peaceful and less silly, you wake to see him still asleep. A mess of curls and smudged glitter eyeshadow is the first thing you see. He’s at such peace and the most still you’ll ever see him. 

Putting makeup on each other, whether it’s going out or just playing around with new looks it doesn’t matter. Being able to experiment with new colors and combinations with each other is so much fun. On date nights you’ll pick outfits for each other, sometimes even just wearing each other’s clothes. Doing things like this with him leads to doing most things together. 

Why have him do things when you can do it for him? Or even with him? He loves having you wash his hair. Showers, baths? Of course we have to both be in there at the same time! Klaus is so touch starved any reason to spend time together he’ll take it,an added bonus is your company keeps the spirits away. 

You’re always in close proximity to each other, so your skin is always touching. Klaus just can’t get enough, physical touch becomes his middle name. He’s a natural affectionate person but just having you near is very grounding for him. 

He’ll draw on you with little glitter pens he carries in his pocket, he likes to call you his “canvas and his muse.” Even without the pens he’ll trace random shapes and words onto your arm or your back when you both lie in bed. Klaus also likes to play with your fingers when he’s bored.

Kissing!! He’s such a fiend for kissing my god, after that first kiss he’s finished. He always says he wants just one but it ends up escalating to a full on make out sesh. Doesn’t matter if you’re public or not you look too good it’d be a crime not to kiss you. Klaus doesn’t really give a damn about public embarrassment, if you wanted him to he’d run through central park naked, he would.

 Once he knows you’re ok with all the random bursts of affection he really piles it on. Neck kisses, shoulder kisses, nose kisses, not one day goes by where he doesn’t kiss you. He kisses like he wants to devour you, if he wasn’t able to kiss you that’d be hell on Earth. If you’re a fan of random kisses at the most inappropriate times he’s a professional. You’re driving, he’s gonna make out with you. Out shopping, kissing! Right now! Doctor’s appointment? Kisses under your jaw in the waiting room, he can’t help it, he's bored.

Helping him get clean, you and Ben have been pretty good influences in his life. Trying to keep him on the straight and narrow for the sake of his health. He wants to be present for you, he wants to be able to remember the things you do together. You help him find fun things to do without getting drugs involved. Taking your time and being patient with him means the world to him. He loves his siblings but they aren’t the best at helping him with it. They do try a little harder when you come around seeing how serious you are about helping him. You stay awake with him when his nightmares get too bad or when the withdrawal is really wearing him down. If it’s the ghosts that are bothering him you just tell them to piss off.(he really appreciates that)

Klaus begins to teach himself new skills to help you out around the house, cooking, cleaning you name it. He doesn’t do it very well but you appreciate the effort anyway. Chores become another activity for you both to do. He’ll even indulge in some of your hobbies just for the fun of it. 

Tattoos! He gets something on his wrist that reminds him of you, he can’t wait to show you too. If you get one related to him, god forbid a little number 4 on you he’ll cry. He does eventually tell you about the rest of his journey in Vietnam and Dave. Klaus wants to be sure you know he won’t compare you to him, He’ll always love Dave but he doesn’t love you any less. He’ll get really shy if you kiss his hand tattoos, there aren’t a lot of ways to fluster him so that’s a good one. 

Being surrounded by death and destruction most of his life really makes him appreciate what you have. The way you indulge in his antics and impulses makes Klaus feel so seen. You don’t feel real to him sometimes; late at night he’ll just lay his head on your chest and listen to your heart beating. 

When some crazy new developments or drama happens in his family you’re first to know. Luther tells him something very personal and secret and 15 mins later he’s calling you on the mansion’s phone. 

Luther: “This stays between us Klaus I mean it…” Klaus: “Of course Lulu I wouldn’t dream of telling anyone you’re dirty little secret” A few moments later… Klaus: “Babe you’ll never believe what Luther just told me!”

He’ll always be looking at you, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing you have his full attention. Klaus will just be gazing at you lovingly while five is trying to talk to him, eventually he’ll just ignore him and go to talk to you. You're his favorite person to talk to; he never gets bored with you.

Thanks for reading! Lemme know what you think. Please like or reblog if you like my stuff.

[daydreaming-nerd]

The Bonds That Break Us (Rhysand x Female! Reader) Part 3

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Final Part

Request: "Would you do a Rhysand x fem!reader series? Maybe fem!reader is Rhysand's mate and Tamlin's sister? So secret love?"

AN: thank you so much for all the feedback! I am loving hearing your guys thoughts and I'm having so much fun with this

Summary: It was almost as if the cauldron liked to play games, as if it had sensed years of boredom and predictability and begged to be entertained. Its method of absolving its melancholy? Mate the High Lord of the Night Court to the younger sister of the High Lord of Spring. 

Warnings (so far): SMUT (consensual), oral (female receiving), mentions of SA.

Word count: 2730

(all photos are from pinterest)

The following day was another quiet day, and though Rhysand had stayed up with me all night like he promised, I didn’t hear from him in the morning. I avoided my brother at all costs and Lucien as well and spent the morning and afternoon getting ready for the ball at the Autumn Court that would be taking place tonight. I was sure to pick my dress carefully, opting for purple again.

I used to not care for balls, most of the time I would show up and not have anyone to see save for Viviane and Kallias who always had each other to dance with. This of course left me to dance with Lucien or not dance at all. I always left bored and feeling more lonely than I had been before I got there. 

I knew tonight would be different not just because of Rhys, but because of Eris. My brother has made it very clear at breakfast that I was to dance and charm Eris all night. The thought made my stomach churn and my eyes water, but I knew better than to disobey. 

From the second I walked into the ballroom I could feel Rhysand. The mass of people swirling and dancing around under the gargantuan chandelier made it near impossible for me to find him. I nearly reached out with the bond before my brother grabbed my arm harshly. 

“Remember sister, you are to charm Eris whatever means necessary,” he growled in my ear so only I could hear. 

“I will, now I’m going to find Viviane.” I glared and sauntered off to do just that. 

The ballroom was impossibly packed but finding Viviane’s ice white hair among the crowd was easier than I thought it would be. 

“Well you two look amazing,” I beam walking over to where her and Kallias are being wall flowers. Her dress looks like it was made entirely out of frost, and cascades down her body like it was made for her, knowing how Kallias likes to dote on her it probably was. 

“Me? Look at you! Purple is your color,” she smiles. 

“So, are there any eligible bachelors for me to romance tonight?” I laugh taking her arm and walking around the perimeter of the ballroom with her and Kallias. 

“No one worthy of note, but you know how picky I am when selecting a suitable man for you,” she giggles. 

“That’s true, you’re a worse critic than I am,” I smile. We promenade around the dancefloor until we run into one of Viviane’s friends and she stops to talk. I take it as my opportunity to glance around the room looking for a particular High Lord and finally I find him. 

He’s at the edge of the room wearing black as usual, conversing easily with two Illyrians. Their wings take up most of the space around them. The one with longer hair is obviously drunk as he lets out a laugh that reverberates throughout the room, the one with the shorter hair, swathed in shadows, simply shakes his head and smiles. Rhysand has yet to see me and to draw his attention I give the bond a tug, the first time I’ve ever done it. 

His head snaps up in my direction and I see the corner of his mouth curl. 

By the cauldron, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, my mate. 

“Why thank you my lord, I seemed to remember you had a certain affinity for the color violet,” I muse back to him and I swear from this distance I can see his eyes light up. 

The Illyrians next to him turn their heads to look at me, the one with the long hair gives me a knowing smirk and I quickly turn my head back to the conversation Viviane is having. 

I hear Rhys chuckle in my head, They don’t bite darling. Well Cassian might, but only if you ask him to. He muses over the bond. 

“An interesting proposal, I’ll keep it in mind,” I say back trying to hide my smile. 

You little minx. 

Before I can say anything back I feel a hand on my back, I turn to find Eris there, a hopeful look in his eye. He takes my hand and kisses it in greeting. 

“Y/n, what a pleasure it is to have you in our court.” he smiles.

“Of course, my brother and I were very honored to receive an invitation,” I say, trying to sound as chipper as possible. 

“You were the first invite we sent, by now I’m sure your brother has told you of my feelings towards you,” he smirks. 

“He has brought them to my attention, and I must say I’m flattered,” I smile.

“Might I have this dance?” he asks, my eyes flit to Rhysand for half a second, but it’s long enough that I can see the rage simmering in those violet eyes.

“Of course,” I say, taking Eris’ hand and allowing him to lead me to the dancefloor. His hand spreads over my waist almost obsessively as we waltz around the room. 

“You really are quite the sight to behold y/n, I can see why your brother keeps you locked up in the Spring Court,” Eris praises me. 

“I regret that he does so, if I had been allowed out more I would’ve found out much sooner how amazing of a dancer you are,” I smile flirtatiously. 

“Among one of my many talents my dear, though you’ll find out soon enough about those,” he whispers in my ear. 

We dance on and on swirling about the room to the music. From the corner of my eye I can see Tamilin and Beron watching the two of us and for the first time in a long time Tamlin almost looks happy. However it’s not long until I see his eyes catch on to a beautiful brunette that seems to grab all his attention. My skin starts to buzz again and it isn’t long until a large hand claps Eris on the shoulder. 

“Mind if I cut in?” Rhysand asks Eris smoothly. His words say one thing but his eyes look at Eris like he would cut off his hands or other important body parts if he were to say no. 

“Of course,” Eris says, passing me off to Rhysand and taking his leave.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” I snap at him.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stand to watch another minute of that,” he says cooly. 

“Someones jealous,” I muse.

“Very,” Rhysand confesses with a small smile. 

 As we sweep across the dancefloor, the feeling of his hand on my waist is all too familiar and I can’t help but remember the last time it was there. I look to the side to find the two Illyrains standing at the edge of the ballroom watching us. 

“Who did you bring with you tonight?” I ask Rhys. 

“My most trusted friends and members of my court, Cassian and Azriel. Azriel is my spymaster and Cassian is the general of my armies.” he explains. “I grew up with them, they are like brothers to me.” 

“Do they know?” I inquire further. 

“That we’re mates? Yes. I think Cassain would start a war for you already,” he chuckles. 

“Interesting, I would’ve thought they’d be upset,” I say, turning my head back towards Rhys.  

“You are not my court’s enemy, your brother is. You aren’t damned by association, and besides they are my brothers, they want me to be happy.” Rhys explains further.

“It sounds like you have quite the amazing family,” I acknowledge and he picks up on the longing in my phrase right away. “I doubt I’ll be treated the same here in the Autumn Court.”

“Why would it matter how the Autumn Court treats you?” he questions. 

“Because I’m marrying Eris,” I sigh, keeping my head down, unable to meet the sadness I know resides in his eyes now. 

“What?” he growls and for the first time since I’ve known him I’m afraid of him. 

“My brother has decided to marry me off to Eris for political gain,” I explain further.

Rhys takes my hand and drags me off the dancefloor, at this point people are so drunk they don’t even notice. He leads me to a room off the ballroom and closes the door. I take a moment to look around at the dimly lit study, filled with old books and mahogany furniture. I lean against the desk and look at Rhys.

“You’re not going to marry Eris,” he fumes. 

“You say that like I have the option to say no,” I retort as he closes in further. 

“If you marry Eris he will destroy you from the inside out, you will become nothing but a breeding vessel to give him sons.” he tells me.

“I’m going to be the same thing to any Lord my brother marries me to,” I sneer at him. 

“That’s not true,” Rhysand shakes his head. 

“Oh really?” I scoff. 

“It wouldn’t be that way with me. You would be my wife, and my High Lady as well as my  mate. You wouldn’t have to be sexually assaulted in your own home, or barricade yourself in your room to be safe! You would have rights and freedom and you would have Cassian and Azriel and a family that loves you!” he yells passionately, getting closer to me. “And you would have me, and I would love you too.” he confesses quieter.

A tear slips from my eye as I take in all that he’s said. He looks at me from just an arms length away, waiting for me to say something back.

 “Rhysand I can’t-” I start to say. 

“Don’t you dare say that you can’t,” he says, stepping forward and caging me into the desk, his mouth dangerously close to my own. “If you were mine there’s not a person in this world that would dare to touch you. You know that.”

I feel a hand go to my waist and he uses the other to wipe the tears from my eye. A different kind of tension fills the room as his breath fans my face leaving kisses where my tears once were. 

“Rhys please,” I rasp out lightly pushing him away.  His hands on my waist tighten. 

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me to kiss you right now y/n,” he says tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. He’s right, I do want him to kiss me but I can’t even form the words to ask him that. “I thought so,” he says and then his lips are on mine. 

I taste all of him and need all of him. He pulls me so close to him I think I might melt into his skin. I throw my hands around his neck like he might be ripped away from me at any given moment. I feel his hands leave my waist and fly to the desk behind me. The next thing I hear is the clattering of glass, books and paper. He lifts me up and places me on the desk positioning his frame between my legs. 

“Rhys,” I moan as his lips find my neck. 

“I love it when you say my name,” he groans into the kiss, using his body to press my back into the desk and anywhere that isn’t concealed by my dress gets goosebumps from the cold surface. “I need to taste you,” his hands travel down my body and he sinks to his kneels before me, never breaking eye contact. 

“What are you doing?” I ask earnestly. 

“Have you ever had a man touch you here?” he questions back, his hand ghosting over my clothed core, my breath hitches. 

“N-no,” I squeak. He lifts up the many layers of my skirt and bunches them around my waist. 

“And have you ever touched yourself here?” he further inquiries rubbing a hand over my undergarments. 

I’m too embarrassed to speak, I just give him a shallow nod.

“Probably while you’re reading all those dirty books right y/n darling?” he smirks loving how the pink tints my cheeks. “And do you want me to touch you here?”  

I give him another shallow nod. 

“I’m gonna need to hear words darling,” he persists. 

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly I spit out, “Yes.” 

“Yes what?” he taunts me. 

“Yes I want you to touch me there,” I whine. 

He lets loose a feral grin before I feel him gently pull down my undergarments, taking his time to let his fingertips brush down the expanse of both my legs while he does it.  He pulls then off over my heels and discards them. I watch him intently as he lowers his mouth to me and licks a long stripe clean up my pussy flicking my clit at the very top. My back arches off the desk and I let out a moan. 

“Shhh darling, we can’t have other people knowing what sinful things you’re allowing me to do to you right now. Especially poor Eris, he’ll never get to hear you moan like this for as long as he lives,” Rhys smirks before disappearing under my dress again to feast on me. 

My back arches again and my hand flies over my mouth to cover my own moan. I feel Rhysand bring one of his hands up to grasp my free one. A touch so simple, yet so intimate. His tongue swirls hungrily over my clit and it takes everything in me not to scream. I squeeze his hand tighter and he chuckles, sending a vibration through my pussy. 

You taste amazing, like you were made for me. He says into my mind. 

I squeeze his hand harder at his word. I had spent most of my life reading books about this, sex and romance. I assumed all the women writing them were exaggerating how good it could be. In the spring court it was always seen as a pleasure for the male, not the female. But the way Rhys is using his tongue on me right now, has me seeing stars which I know is no coincidence. His mouth closes around my clit suckling it. 

“Rhys,” I breathe out. 

Fuck darling. I lied, I like it when you say my name, I love it when you moan it. 

“Rhys I’m gonna,” I cry trying to keep quiet. 

Cum mate. I want you to cum all over my face. He growls into my mind. 

It was almost as if he compelled me to. My back arches off the desk for the final time and I use my hand to stifle any sound that comes out of my mouth. He works me through my orgasm and when my body stops shaking he places one final kiss over my clit. His head pops up from under my skirts, his eyes shown with satisfaction as he licks the remnants of my arousal off his lips. 

I was on him before he could even speak, pulling him by his neck and kissing him hard. I fumble for the strings on his pants and he grabs my wrist to stop me.  

“No, not tonight,” he states. I immediately feel disappointment, the sedition I felt earlier had long left me the second that man licked his lips. 

“Rhys please,” I whine. 

“As much as it makes my cock twitch to hear you beg for me, I won’t let the first time I fuck you be on Beron Vanserra’s desk.” he chuckles, and leans in close to my ear. “Because when I’m inside you for the first time my mate I want to hear every strangled cry and moan I pull from your body. And when I cum inside you for the first time I want to hear you scream my name so loud all of Prythian knows just who’s mate you are. Is that clear?” 

Butterflies hit my stomach and all I can do is nod slowly every coherent thought in my brain long gone. All I can think of is how badly I want him to make good on his promise.

“Good girl, now let's get your panties back on before a certain High Lord of Spring starts to miss you,” he smiles.

Taglist: Taglist: @heyyitsnat21 , @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson , @randomperson1234sblog , @local-fangirl09 , @bleh-81 , @annaaaaa88 , @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris

[dumbseee]

moving on.

f1 au: in which y/n breaks up with her longtime boyfriend who also happens to be a footballer. she finds comfort in her brother’s best friend: lando norris.

lando norris x sainz!singer!reader

fc: cindy kimberly.

note: english isn’t my first language!

liked by sainzz55, fairyyn, jaimeebellfort and 1 008 others.

footwags: y/n sainz and dele ali have broke up after two years. the footballer apparently cheated on the singer.

_

fan1: noooo i loved them together

fan2: ooop carlos isn’t going to be happy with that

fan3: he fumbled so hard

fan4: cheating on THEE y/n sainz??

fan5: the break up album is going to be FIIIIRE

fan6: what a dick

fan7: he didn’t know how to handle a baddie like her that’s why

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, francisca.cgomes and 6 799 098 others.

y/nsainz: ‘exile’ is out now on every platform 🕊

_

fan1: y/n we love you!

fan2: ‘you ripped my heart out to play soccer with it.’ :(

carlossainz55: i love you corazón, you’re so strong

liked by y/n.

landonorris: the strongest woman i know ❤️

liked by y/n.

lilymhe: your voice never fails to make me cry y/n.

liked by y/n.

fan4: these lyrics are so heartbreaking srs

fan5: so he cheated on her and made fun of her in his friends groupchat? wtf is wrong with that dude

liked by carlossainz55, y/nsainz, maxfewtrell and 356 997 others.

lando.jpg: y/n through my camera because i miss her.

_

y/nsainz: missing you too pretty boy <3

fan1: lando trying to cheer her up :(

fan2: that’s so cute omg

fan3: brother’s best friend trope coming to life or…?

carlossainz55: how come you capture my sister in such a beautiful way and my pictures all look like shit?

landonorris: @.carlossainz55 y/n is a natural and you’re not.

fan4: i love them

fan5: missing the besties

landonorris just posted a story!

tagged: @.y/nsainz.

lando norris just posted a story!

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, gigihadid and 3 789 997 others.

y/nsainz: needed that xx

_

landonorris: when did you took the first one? i don’t remember seeing you around wtf

y/nsainz: @.landonorris you’re always behind the camera and you looked pretty

fan1: okay i ship that

fan2: cuties omg

fan3: lando taking her on vacation 🥹

carlossainz55: why wasn’t i invited?

danielricciardo: @.carlossainz55 you wanted to be the third wheel?

landonorris:@.danielricciardo DANIEL

y/nsainz: @.danielricciardo JOSEPH GET OFF MY COMMENT SECTION

fan4: not daniel exposing the lovebirds

fan5: awww

fan6: we need more pictures of these two

fan7: i missed their friendship so much

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo, maxfewtrell and 3 799 008 others.

y/nsainz: he always take pictures of everyone and everything but hardly has any pictures of himself, so here’s a compilation of all the pictures i took when pretty boy wasn’t looking <3

_

fan1: ‘pretty boy’ 🥹🥹

landonorris: i prefer the word handsome but i’ll take it

fan2: he’s so pretty wtf

danielricciardo just posted a story!

tagged: @.landonorris / @.y/nsainz.

this story isn’t available.

liked by y/nsainz, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 4 789 678 others.

landonorris: since daniel is too old to know how to use instagram correctly, me and y/n have been outed, before anyone starts speculating we’re taking things slowly and i want her to heal her heart before loving anyone else after what she went through a few months ago. i’ll wait for you and your heart to be ready to welcome me in it. mine is ready for you, it’s always have been. to my muse, i’ll always treasure you.

_

y/nsainz: i don’t know what i’d do without you, thank you for being so patient and loving with me pretty boy <3

liked by landonorris.

carlossainz55: even if i still can’t believe what my eyes witnessed these past few days, you’re the only one i actually trust to love my sister the way she deserves to be loved (but be careful muppet)

liked by landonorris.

fan1: this is TOO cute

fan2: lando being a patient boyfriend we love to see it

fan3: this is what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like, seriously y/n deserves all the love

fan4: we haven’t heard from daniel since the ig story is he alive?

danielricciardo: @.fan4 they locked me in my OWN basement for a WEEK with only water and bread to stay alive call the police.

y/nsainz: @.danielricciardo you’re such a liar joseph

carlossainz55: @.danielricciardo don’t give me ideas.

[puppyplayhouse]

Jeongin x Puppy Best Friend

Warnings: Dub Con sort of, dirty talk, praise, first-time cream pie, best friends to lovers, some degrading but barely, a lil choking, riding.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐩་༘࿐

Indulging your weird kinks came so naturally to Jeongin. You were so close, and you both loved experimenting, so when you excitedly mentioned puppy play to him, he immediately was down to help you.

It's so easy for you both to fall into it. Sure, it was a little awkward at first, but when he realised how eager you were to please and how easy it was to get you in that head space, it became one of his favourite things!

He always treats you like a puppy. Always petting your hair or shushing you and telling you to sit and be good when he's trying to focus. It's not sexual at first! Not at all. It's just a supportive friend letting you explore this fun new space until one day when you're a little more worked up than usual and you decide to slot yourself between his legs where he sat on the couch.

He doesn't pay you any mind at first, just ruffling your hair and focusing on his show. He doesn't spare a single thought to you until he feels your nose brush over his sweats, his length twitching in response. He stares down at you with his brows raised and his head tilted, but you're so deep into your headspace that you don't even register it, nuzzling against his hardening cock once again.

"Puppy, what are you doing?" He questions carefully, knowing you hadn't really discussed making this a sexual thing. You'd been intimate, of course, but it hadn't been discussed in this context.

Your eyes are watery, and his hand grips your cheek on instinct, his thumb brushing your lips. When your tongue darts out to lick over his skin, he finds his resolve slipping a little. You're so whiny, and he's almost annoyed by how desperate you seem, getting himself jealous from the thought that if he wasn't here, you'd be pleading for someone else to touch you.

His self made jealousy is what causes him to slide two fingers into your mouth, watching intently as you suck at the digits, your spit coating them generously. He can't stop himself from pushing them in further, smirking when you gag but make no attempt to move, obediently taking the assault as he begins fucking your throat with his fingers.

"Aren't you a good dog. Look so pretty sucking on my fingers." He muses more to himself than you, noting the wiggle of your hips in response to his praise. It was endearing, really, and he did love to see you happy.

An idea peaks his interest and has him using his puppy voice on you, cooing as he asks if you want a special treat! "Hmm? Would my sweet puppy like a bone?" You'd cringe in any other situation, but the need pulsing through you in a steady rhythm is more than enough for you to be panting, wiggling your hips more intensely as you paw at his bulge.

He doesn't hesitate to free his cock and he struggles to maintain a sense of composure as you begin lapping at it, your wet tongue trailing up and down the sides before your lips wrap around the tip, tongue swirling in the most tantalising way possible which urges him to buck his hips, a loud moan escaping him when you happily take the extra length down your throat.

His obvious pleasure is more than enough encouragement, and you bob your head up and down on his dick until he's physically pushing you off, not wanting to come without feeling your walls wrap around him.

"C'mere puppy. Come sit in my lap, okay?"

You do sit in his lap, but not before he helps you out of your pants and underwear, allowing your bare cunt to slide easily over his length and coat it with your slick. He'll worry about his soaked sweats later, but there's no time to think about it with you grinding mindlessly against him in search of your own pleasure.

He would have been happy to keep up the grinding, but he hears your loud yelp before he even registers that he's balls deep inside your dripping hole, you're movements having been erratic enough for his tip to catch on your entrance and slide straight in. It stings a little considering your lack of preparation, but that doesn't deter you from continuing to grind against him and you stop caring entirely when his thumb finds your clit, his free hand coming up to grip your throat.

"Fuck. You dirty puppy. So fucking needy." He growls between thrusting his hips up into you, eventually stilling you so that you're hovering slightly to allow him to pound up into you recklessly. "This is what you needed, wasn't it? A thick hard cock to stretch out your pretty cunt? My poor puppy." His tone is condescending and it gets you wetter to have him talk down to you.

"Please." He can hear your whisper, but he truly isn't sure what you're asking for.

"Please what, puppy? Need to use your words for me."

"Please cum in me!"

His hips still and his eyes are wide, almost panicked despite the fresh wave of arousal. You're whining and trying desperately to take more of him, but his firm grip on your throat and your hip keeps you still.

"What?"

"Cum in me. Please, Innie!" His head is spinning, and something deep in him is telling him to throw caution to the wind, but he won't unless he knows you're serious.

He grips your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eye. "Tell me you're serious. Tell me you're fucking serious and I'll fill you up real good, okay?"

You're like a deer in the headlights when you nod a little too eagerly, whimpering pathetically. "I'm sure! So fucking sure. Please, Innie. Never been filled before. Want it to be you!"

"Yeah? You want Innie to be the only one that gets to cum deep in you? Want Innie to claim his puppy?" The way he talks is what pushes you over the edge and you're cumming hard around his cock, your walls gripping him as he finally abandons all caution and thrusts hard and fast up into you, chasing his inevitable high.

Your head is buried in his neck nipping at the skin when he finally cums, holding you down firmly against him as he rolls his hips up, his load buried deep inside you're now aching pussy.

He was serious about claiming you. He could never let someone else touch you after seeing you like this.

[novantinuum]

jen's "Hard-Light Hybrid Steven" headcanon dump

Okay so I'm just making this its own post, because frankly at this point... the original post is so hard to get all the pulp out of due to the headcanons being spread over multiple reblogs and half of it being in the tags.

So here we go. Self indulgent headcanon time. This is how I'm now personally interpreting things within the realm of my own fic work and the post-canon storylines that live in my mind. This is NOT, however, a work of meta- I am by no means suggesting this to be what I see as "canon," only having some fun playing around with ideas I think are cool on a speculative fantasy anatomy level. Take it as you will basically, lol. This is ultimately just for me.

With that stated:

"jen what the fuck do you mean when you say hard-light hybrid Steven, what are you even suggesting"

Essentially I am proposing that Steven becomes progressively more hard-light based in form as he ages. When he was born he was two almost entirely separate halves mashed together- organic and gem- and those two halves slowly but surely merge over the years (hard light replacing organic matter) until one day they are literally inseparable, and Steven is one permanently cohesive being... entirely hewn from hard-light, but with a level of anatomical complexity that still makes him a complete anomaly amongst Gems and humans alike. Instead of the innards of his body being solid light, he is still formed of cells- only now, those cells are entirely hard-light.

His gem is somehow mimicking the form of organic matter with a level of detail that's absolutely unobtainable by shapeshifting or tailored reformation alone. Steven has become the single most complex hard-light system to have ever existed.

Some more specifics on how I imagine this merge working:

Much of the "merging" is natural over time, basically his gem branching out new bits of hard-light circuitry within his body as it integrates within his system.

However, this process is sped up significantly by all the spills and injuries Steven deals with throughout his childhood... because his body's instinctive response to injury is simply to replace damaged cells with hard-light analogues. An almost instantaneous patch job.

Steven's component halves being so distinct early on is a large reason why he takes so long to harness many of his powers.

This is also why Steven's (mostly) organic half is so weakened during the split in Change Your Mind- at that point there's a lot about his anatomy that's been converted to hard-light, so it's basically as if White Diamond yanked the power source out.

(Same idea for why he's so weakened during the movie when his gem's on the fritz... his gem's connection with the rest of his body got partially severed for a time, which. Is not Good for someone who at this point is more hard-light than not hard light.)

At a certain point post-canon, it becomes impossible for Steven's organic and gem halves to be separated. They are so tightly integrated that attempting to remove the gem would only poof him.

Now, here's the thing though...

Steven does not realize that Any of this is taking place until the blunt reality of his strange new anatomical nature is put on display for all to see... when he actually DOES poof.

Here is how (in my own post-canon musings, which I have simplified here because y'all don't live inside all the intensive lore that jangles about my brain) I envision that taking place:

So, Steven would be in his mid to late twenties at this point. He's married to Connie, and they have an infant son.

Recently, there was a fairly severe Gem incident that left Beach City and Little Homeworld pretty damaged. Things are still being mopped up from that.

Steven, Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl head out on a quick mission one day to intercept one of the last few supporters of the Gem who attacked the Crystal Gem's hub of operation, and at first it seems like it's gonna be a straightforward trip.

Then, Steven sees the Gem in question pull a destabilizer wand on Garnet, and- unwilling to watch her to get ripped apart like that again- throws himself in between. He can take it, he thinks. These things never hurt him one bit as a kid

He cannot take it.

He poofs.

His gem unceremoniously falls to the ground, along with the clothes he was wearing and whatever he had in his pockets.

Cue the others going "what the actual FUCK" because based on everything they've ever witnessed and known about him no one had "Steven poofs" on their bingo card.

The insurgent Gem is captured and dealt with, but now... oh, boy. There's literally no playbook for this. Nobody knows what to expect.

Steven's gem is quiet for WEEKS. During that time, the Gems end up consulting the Diamonds on Homeworld to ask for intel on diamond reformation, but none of them are much help- Rose and Steven are the only ones who have actually poofed. Beyond them, this is completely unprecedented.

In a very vague sense, Steven is aware of what must have happened during this time... (even if a part of him wants to deny it, because How???)

He can pick up vague snippets of what's happening just beyond his reach... catching voices and what must be faint sensations of familiar people handling his gem, but beyond that he has no awareness of the passage of time, and he has no means by which to reach out to them mentally.

It takes almost two months for him to finally reform. When he does, his gem quickly shifts through its previous three forms and then just... outright h a n g s for a while on the new one... as if what's trying to "load" up is so complex it's goddamn buffering.

(my brain can only think of This image uyhjfsdbyuhjfg)

No one really knows what to expect but when he finally reforms, he... looks mostly the same? Still rather human in appearance, externally? The only notable difference is that his irises are pink now. (But with no diamond pupil- not unless he's going Full Power Mode.)

Steven also reforms WITH an outfit much like a Gem would.

The second he's back, he runs to embrace Connie (who is sobbing in relief) and asks how long he was out.

And he did NOT anticipate that answer to be two months.

As it turns out, he missed quite a few baby milestones while he was gone, and he feels horrible about it- it's not his fault of course, but he feels so bad that Connie had to go that long without his support, and that there's all those special "firsts" with his son he'll never get to experience.

This whole incident marks Steven's final "retirement" from participating in real combat- he outright tells the Gems to not involve him in any other combat situations unless the whole ass planet is under threat, basically. The potential risks are just not worth it now that he knows how long he'd be out of commission, should he poof once more. He can't put his family through that again.

Now, with all that outlined...

Ways that Steven is Weird now:

He looks rather human- his hair looks like hair and his skin looks like skin- but after he reforms, literally every "cell" of his body is fashioned out of hard-light.

However, if one were to theoretically slice him in half (which I PROMISE I am not going to do, this is only a thought experiment ahahah-), his internal anatomy would glow much like the Gems' do. (See below image for what I mean.) The "human-like" appearance of his skin and hair and other externally visible features does not extend very deep.

He "bleeds" pink now- but it's only surface, and is all just excess hard-light. No real blood.

His body would no longer show up on a radiograph- just the gem.

Many of his anatomical features (not all of them, though) are now vestigial in certain ways-? Like, various functions have overtly been taken over by his gem... he doesn't need to breathe or have any lifeblood beyond light pumping through his system, so his heart and lungs serve no necessary purpose anymore... but all of these organs still "exist" as like an echo of what once was, perfect mimics of their organic form but hewn from hard-light.

That being said, Connie enjoys the reassurance of his heartbeat, so he retains that function while conscious.

(Not to mention, "breathing" is literally just a habit for him by this point.)

HOWEVER, when he sleeps (another thing he technically doesn't Need to do but does anyways) his breathing and heartbeat stops entirely and it kinda spooks Connie out. The literal only evidence she has that he's still kicking during these times is the soft hum of his gemstone.

He does not have a biological NEED for food or water anymore and can fully operate on exposure to light alone, but he still really enjoys eating and drinking anyways. In fact, he's still able to absorb energy from food... so it's basically like he's over-charging his battery or whatever. He also still experiences taste (so still posesses some form of taste receptors) and instinctively feels "hungry" at meal times, so like... the running theory is that he must have hard-light analogues for all these receptors and neurotransmitters and hormones that communicate sensations like hunger in his system even though their function is entirely redundant with his gem powering everything.

Furthermore, his memories and sense of self and everything one might refer to as "the soul" is stored exclusively in his gem now. Which means, if one could manage to analyze his brain like one could with a human brain, there would be entire sections that simply... don't light up the way that others (such as the parts of the brain that govern motor control, as an example) do. This is because all the "data" once stored there has migrated.

He can fully shapeshift now, if he wanted to.

He can also still visually "age"- it's all based on his mental state, same as before.

But despite being hard-light in nature now, he can still interface with organics in fusion because his form is still so organic in shape and function. He's still the bridge between humanity and gemkind. I like to think that... theoretically... a Gem might be able to fuse with an organic too, but the sheer burden of trying to shapeshift and maintain such cellular complexity is what stops this from happening.

Steven, though? His very existence as a hybrid acted as a template by which hard-light could learn to understand organic life. He is still an intensely unique being, even IF he no longer consists of any actual organic matter.

_

I am sure I will probably add something to this later, but for now, those are all my musings.

Anyways, thank you for taking a brief visit to the deepest recesses of my brain, where I am chewing at the drywall and bouncing around the room like a cat who has just devoured the goddamn motherlode of catnip. Good night! !! :DDD

[jamesdeniscouldnever]

A little blurb, cause cyberpunk is updating.

Soft Rolan x tav headcannons

So to start out, I think it goes without saying that the only people in his life he's soft for is Lia, Cal and, after much warming up and pining, Tav.

And on the note of pining, it's such a mix of his usual pissy self and ever so soft moments.

When they're having their usual moments it's a lot of teasing and rolan whining cause he wants tavs attention. ("You! Look at the new effect I've added to my Thunderwave! Tav. Tav! Look!") ("I love Lia and Cal more than my own life, but must they accompany us to the market every time? What do you mean you can go alone, no I'm coming with you.")

But those softer moments? The setting sun shining through the windows of the tower, Tav relaxing and playing a game of cards with Lia and Cal while Rolan reads one of his mant tomes?

And he just looks up at them and. Oh.

Oh he feels so content. His family is there, Tav included even if they aren't yet his family in the way he would LIKE (husband/wife ehem.)

You know the soft, pleased little "hmmm" he makes when you say you'll leave him to his study after killing lorroakin? That little sound embodies his true feelings for Tav.

Once they're in an established relationship its a whole different game. Man is WHIPPED but will vehemently deny it to anyone who pokes fun.

"Darling,you needn't spend so long cleaning that blade, I can help." "Dearest, I do hate when you come home bruised. And DON'T start on how it's okay, because it's not. How did you feel when you saw me bloodied and battered? Well, it's the same for me about you."Please, if not a healing potion, then let me use a spell, my muse."

*cough cough* "They're MY responsibility" *cough*

Well, now tav is too.

Behind closed doors, when the rest of the harsh world is no longer there to cause him ire or bolster his bitterness, he is a different man.

Soft whispered nothings, heads resting on shoulders, be it tavs on his or vice versa. Tail wrapped around their waist or wrist.

He strikes me as the type who would be fond of kissing the inside of their wrist or their tired hands.

Protective but also so so in need of protecting. We know the world has been unkind to him, that his birth family is not around for whatever reason. He would melt as proper care and affection.

Worry or being upset presents itself as anger from him, but once all is well and safe he will cling to Tav, whispering apologies and crying.

The first time he woke with his head resting on Tav's chest he nearly cried.

Overall he is, in his own right, so tender and gentle. When one manages to earn his heart, they've earned it in its entirety.

[pauli-writes]

Could I request Aventurine with a jewelry maker s/o?

warning: light 2.1 spoilers (just that aventurine shattered his cornerstone), references to gambling, aventurine is a little mean

pairing: aventurine x reader

author’s note: thank you anon! i had so much fun writing this! (it was a good distraction from thinking about my presentation for class) this is really short again and beware that i know nothing about jewels or the likes that part was all google, but i hope you enjoy it anyways!

“so, you think it’s possible?” he was insane, out of his mind. he wanted you of all people to shatter the cornerstone the ipc has given him, something like that could probably be considered blasphemous by the ipc, you could be put on trial or worse for this.

However you didn’t say anything close to this to his face, instead only nodding along like a good little partner. “yeah, but we could get in trouble for it. i mean real trouble-“

“i know, i know,” he cut you off with a wave of his hand, starting to walk around you like a predator circling his prey. it would be unsettling for most, but you were already used to it. “but you’ll still help me right?”

you paused and looked at the beautiful aventurine stone lying on your worktable, before slowly looking back up at your blond partner in crime. “aventurine… can i be honest with you?”

“always, my sweet.” he mused with a charming smile, but you could tell inside he was not pleased about you making a fuss about this simple task he asked of you.

“this is a big gamble.”

“you’re saying that like i’m not aware of it.”

you shook your head apologetically, “i didn’t mean to insult you. it’s just- what if the risk isn’t worth the reward this time?”

his smile momentarily turned into a fake frown as he cupped your cheeks in his hands, before turning back into an amused smile. “my dear, have you not been listening to me? don’t you know? the house always wins.”

“and we are the house...“ you finished, turning aventurine’s smile into a smirk as he let go of your face.

“so, you do remember after all.“ he mused, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you both gazed at the stone in the table. his grip on you tightened subtly, a small reminder that he was the one with a position in power and you only had a small little jewellery shop that you could barely keep afloat. “just don’t think too much about it. i have everything under control, so take this ugly cornerstone and turn it into something elegant, presentable and most importantly undetectable.”

you nodded and he let you get to work. you sat in front of the stone, inspecting it before even attempting to shatter it. after all this stone was said to have sealed the authority of an emanator of preservation within it, which basically meant it was dangerous as heck and you had to be careful about it.

you let out a sigh and picked up the stone, painfully aware of aventurine’s careful and scrutinising gaze on you.

“aventurine is such a pretty stone, you know?”you began, turning it in the light, letting light refract from it, “it’s a symbol of good luck, but you probably already knew that… it’s also very easily mistaken for jade for the untrained eye…”

his expression shifted slightly as you mentioned that, “oh, really?”

he stepped closer again, standing right behind you and examining his stone as well. you knew aventurine liked pretty and expensive things, he dressed up to the part he wanted to play, you remembered when he first stepped into your shop he had no clue about what was fine expensive jewellery and what was just something cheaply made and sold for an expensive price. it’s almost funny that his own stone was never a part of those conversations.

you nodded your head, presenting the aventurine in such a way it would sparkle a little. “yeah. you can’t really tell at a glance, but aventurine has a slight glittery shimmer to it. i can barely tell the difference half the time.”

“you’re so smart, reader.” he said, making you blush a little. you were very easily flustered by praise. “i think you just gave me an even better idea. i have to leave and make a call, i’ll be back later. love you.”

he gave you a kiss on the cheek before starting to walk out of your store with a hurried step. you could barely register what he had said, a new idea? how did your info dumping give him a new idea?

you shook your head, it was futile trying to figure out what he thought. quickly you stood up and shouted after him, “love you too! don’t come back too late!”

[81folklore]

happiness - CL16 - part 2

pairing: charles leclerc x ex!reader (fc: sabrina carpenter + pintrest) part 1

summary: releasing a song about your ex might finally stop the rumors surrounding your breakup (or: you release happiness about your ex charles leclerc)

authors note: this is part two, find part one above! this is my first smau so it might not be the best. i hope you guys enjoy :)

masterlist

yourusername

liked by jamesmcvey, landonorris and 1,913,474 others

cologne you were a dream come true, thank you for allowing me to come to your beautiful country and letting me play my songs for you.. and on that note stay tuned on my twitter for a very special announcement 💌

view comments

user5: OMGOMGOMG

user5: i have never been so excited

user63: thank you for continuing to share your music with us🫶

landonorris: one of my favorite songs of yours

yourusername: thank you lan, truly means the world to me🧡

user2: seeing you was a dream come true!!

yourusername: glad you had a good time!

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 2,235,673 others

happiness is now yours, forever and always🌙

this tour has been one of the most memorable times of my life. i went into this tour with my muse cheering me on from the sidelines and releasing this song without him being right there feels strange but i know he will see it, i know he will listen to it and i know he will hear me.

growing up while in a relationship is terrifying but knowing that we have grown apart is scary, my life has always been him. hes been by my side for years and vise versa so to not have him there anymore is terrifying. but i am learning, i am learning how to live on my own, i am learning how to find happiness in things i used to without him and i am learning how to live once again

happiness is a personal favorite of mine and i hope you enjoy it as much as i do. thank you for letting me do this and thank you for always listening to me💌

view comments

user7: brb sobbing

charles_leclerc: 🌟

yourusername: 🌙

user18: THE MOON AND STAR THING OH HOW I MISS THEM😭😭

henrymoodie: ill never get bored of this song

yourusername: liar, you told me to turn it off multiple times..

henrymoodie: in my defense you played it on loop for hours

oliviarodrigo: im so in love with you

yourusername: mwahh

authors note: and its over (maybe)!! this has been one of the most fun but stressful things i have ever done in my entire life! requests are open so feel free to send them in and i would really appreciate and constructive criticism you may have :)

[messiahzzz]

Grooming also doesn't have to involve sex. So even if people think his relationship with Mystra was appropriate, you still can't deny he wasn't groomed to be great. The guy caught Elminster's attention at eight years old ffs. There's no way around it.

that’s the thing. it doesn’t matter at what exact point their relationship became sexual, it doesn’t matter whether gale was of age at this point in time or not. grooming is a process, it’s pure manipulation that sets the groundwork to ensure that this person will be fully accessible (in whatever way the abuser desires, usually sexual) at a later point. children can be groomed, teenagers can be groomed and adults can be groomed as well - age is no factor in this regard. children are merely common victims due to being more impressionable. it’s essentially about creating a power imbalance that the abuser exploits for their own gratification.

the discussion about where to fit gale’s relationship with mystra in terms of her death & the overall timeline (while fun to theorize over) is redundant imo, since larian has been known to play pretty loose with the lore themselves. there are already so many inconsistencies.

so, the information we have regarding mystra’s relationship with gale are these snippets:

mystra first functioned as his mentor, then his muse, and later his lover.

gale’s relationship with her was indeed of a sexual nature, he has explicitly stated so several times.

elminster sought him out when he was but 8 years old, as stated in the epilogue letter.

during the ending where gale fails to ascend raphael states during the credits that tav has “rekindled gale’s ambitions after mystra had so cleverly put them to rest”

if you do want to consider d&d lore, it also tells us that mystra possesses a degree of foresight. (my friend @galedekarios already wrote a very thorough meta on the general subject.)

elminster’s letter pretty much confirms any suspicions we might have had earlier. after all, what reason is there for elminster, one of mystra’s chosen, to seek out gale specifically? how was he aware of gale in the first place? what personal incentive could he possibly have that isn’t tied to mystra in some way? why gale specifically when there are likely many young wizards with a potential for greatness that he could take under his wing? claiming that “it wasn’t mystra who sought him out, but elminster” feels like a rather naive and shortsighted read on the situation imo. we know that mystra was gale’s mentor and that she eventually made him her chosen. it isn’t hard to connect the dots.

summed up: we do know that mystra had her sight set on gale when he was an 8-year-old boy, possibly even earlier than that. the intention was already there and we know that their relationship underwent the transitions of teacher, muse, and then lover.

gale has been inevitably shaped by her grooming (just like any victim) to be devoted, to be compliant, to be loyal, to not question. many of his behaviors and beliefs are a direct result of said manipulation and abuse. gale himself is only starting to comprehend the possibility that he might actually be a victim once the tadpole crew comes into his life. and, like i said in my previous post, has barely scratched the surface of the damage that was done.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind

Title: Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Fandom: Enola Holmes series

Word Count: 1.7K

Summary: As you were getting close to Sherlock, he stops visiting. You pop over to Baker Street and share an eye-opening moment.

Warnings: age gap(reader is about 20 in this, Sherlock is mid-30s), slight voyeurism, masturbation (male), handjob, unprotected p-in-v sex (wrap it up y’all), creampie

A/N: I’ve been throwing around this idea about Sherlock for quite some time. I hope you enjoy it. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist 

You’ve been friends with Enola for a short time, only since the beginning of the year. She’s led you on a few fun adventures, but more often than not, she’s led you on wild goose chases. She has helped you come out of your shell and you are grateful for that. On days that you weren’t exploring the countryside or causing a ruckus in the city, you would lounge around her large house. 

Spending time with her in her large house had its benefits. One of which was 6’1 with a head of unruly curls. The famous Sherlock Holmes was your best friend’s big brother. He lived in the city but came to visit Enola every week. 

You always made sure to be available on those days. If only for the chance to say hello to Sherlock. You wanted more but, truth be told, he made you a bit nervous.

You tried your best to keep calm when he would arrive, but Enola noticed your demeanor change every time. She teased you endlessly about your little crush and you would always bring up Tewkesbury. That would usually shut her up.

In truth, she did not care that you liked her brother, she just didn’t want you to waste your time. The man was not exactly sociable unless he found value in the opinions of others. One opinion he respected was that of his sister. You could sit and watch them talk for hours. She would get him to laugh with her jokes, and he would bring her to annoyance with his riddles.

You would interject a thought here and there and when Sherlock would give his attention to you, you froze. Something about the look in his eyes, it was more than attention. It was intense as if the two of you were the only ones in the world let alone the room.

More than once, Enola had cleared her throat loudly to get you and Sherlock’s attention back on her. But sometimes, she would just listen to you ramble on while Sherlock seemed enthralled in your thoughts. You mused about music and how interesting you thought his cases were. The more you spoke with him, the more comfortable you felt around him. 

Sherlock would show up now and then with little trinkets from his cases. At first, it was just things for Enola, but soon he would start bringing you little gifts as well. He started small with a single flower or a tasty treat from his favorite bakery. But soon, his gifts grew oddly specific. He bought you a brooch you had mentioned seeing at a store in the city. He would learn pieces of music from a composer you talked about and play it for you, much to the chagrin of Enola who wasn’t a fan of the violin.

It was when he didn’t visit for two weeks that you started to realize you were developing feelings for the older detective. You’d come to enjoy his presence and not because of his gifts. You just enjoyed seeing his face light up when he saw you. You relished the power you felt when the normally unflappable and distant man would sit enthralled when you gave voice to your thoughts. 

So, why did it stop so suddenly? Had you done something to offend him? 

You wracked your brain and Enola’s brain for that matter. She gave you his address so you could go and talk to him and she could finally be free of your fretting. 

You arrive at 221 Baker Street, your hands trembling as you knock on the main door. A sweet woman opens the door and introduces herself as Ms. Hudson. When you ask to speak to Sherlock, she sends you up the steps to 221B.

As you’re about to knock, a man opens the door and almost collides with you.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. May I help you, Miss?” 

“Ehm, I’m here to see Mr. Holmes…but I can come back if that’s–” You are cut off when he speaks again.

“You wouldn’t happen to be friends with Enola, would you?” You nod, giving your name, “Of course, Sherlock mentioned you. I’m Dr. John Watson, and I have to be going but you are more than welcome to come in. Sherlock is just in his room down the hall.” He points around the corner from the door and walks past you before waving goodbye.

So, that’s how you end up in Sherlock’s apartment. It is eerily quiet and you think he might be asleep. That is until you hear soft moans coming from down the hall. Your first thought is it must have been the floorboards creaking under your feet.

What you hear next is the unmistakable sound of your name followed by a whimper. It sounded like Sherlock was calling to you, but how would he know you were here already? You walk down the hallway quietly and see that his bedroom door is slightly ajar.

Peeking in, you are blessed with a sight! Sherlock is laid out on his bed with his shirt and waistcoat open, his hairy chest on full display as it rises and falls quickly. His beautiful face constricted in pain one second, solemn and peaceful in the next. His curls are a sweaty mess on his forehead. One hand is fisting the sheets at his side and the other hand is wrapped around his thick veiny dick. You’re mesmerized watching him stroke himself until you hear him moan your name again.

In a moment of bravery, you step into the room. Your bosom heaves in your bodice as you breathe shallowly, adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

His hand stops its ministrations and he looks to you as you walk towards him. He’s frozen on the spot and can only watch you as you climb atop the bed and lay next to him. You replace his hand with yours and continue to pump his dick. Your hand barely fits around him and you enjoy the feel of his soft uncut length in your hand.

His hands come up to caress your face and pull you down for a kiss. When his tongue begs for entry, you allow it in. Heatedly, you mold your mouth to his, letting your moans and whimpers be consumed by him. Breaking the kiss, he looks into your eyes and you can tell he is close.

You remove your hand from him and stand up from the bed. It is only when you remove your undergarments does Sherlock understand why you stopped. Climbing back on the bed, you settle yourself with your cunt dripping onto him.

“I want you to be certain that you–” You cut him off as you slink down, his velvety smoothness sliding inside your wet heat. You take a moment to get used to the sheer size of him. He stretches you almost painfully. Leaning down, you whisper into his ear.

“Do I seem certain, Mr. Holmes?”

Instead of an answer, Sherlock groans and twitches inside you. His hands travel under your skirt and rest on your hips. You take that as a sign and sit up. With your hands on his chest, you begin to ride him slowly, agonizingly to the point where his hands start to guide you to a quicker pace. 

Using you like a ragdoll, he flips you so he is atop you while you are on your back. He slams into you repeatedly and you are no longer in control. He savors the sounds coming from you as he fucks into you. He urges you on as he kisses and licks and nips at your neck, careful not to leave any marks.

Pulling out, he moves you to your hands and knees before inserting himself again. The angle allows him to go deeper and you thank the Gods for it. As he holds onto you, he hammers into you. The filthy utterances that come from his mouth only serve to solidify the notion that he missed you too.

“I knew you would feel like Heaven, my sweet angel…”

“This pretty pussy belongs to me now…”

“You would look so perfect with my cum dripping out of you…”

“I could fuck you all day and night and still never get enough of you…”

“Be my good angel and come all over my cock,” He reaches down and rubs your clit between two fingers as he plows into you. You never stood a chance, your walls quivering around him within moments, “That’s my good girl. So good…for me. Fuck, so close!”

“Sherlock, please! Need you to fill me with all you have to give!” You surprise yourself and your lover with those words. 

Sherlock’s answering grunts as he makes mincemeat of your pussy are music to your ears. His punishing thrusts falter and he pulls you flush to him. He’s deep enough to kiss your cervix with the tip of his dick. You feel him swell inside you and it’s enough to make you climax again, milking him through his release. 

And the noises he makes when he comes are more intricate than the 24 Caprices. You’re sure that Sherlock would disagree but you don’t even care. You revel in the melody of his moans and surrender to its hold on you.

Sherlock’s hands roam over your back, your hips, your ass, and your thighs. As if he can’t get enough of you. He doesn’t pull out until you wiggle your hips, a sign that your legs are tired. Extricating himself from your sensitive folds allows his spend to escape. He catches what slips free and pushes it all back in before helping you lay down on your front.

He lays down next to you, pulling you close to him with one arm while the other rests behind his head. He looks so peaceful as he closes his eyes and hums. The feminine urge for pillow talk is high, but so is the need to just bask in this moment.

You’re in the arms of the man you care for, who also adores you. You rest your cheek on his shoulder and tangle your fingers in his chest hair. You breathe in his smell, his pheromones are surely on high alert from your activity. When he rests his head against yours, you feel at peace.

You do plan on talking to Sherlock later about everything. But, for now, you can take pleasure in the simplicity of the harmonization of your heartbeats.

A/N: The title of this fic is taken from The Neighborhood’s Sweater Weather. There is an amazing violin version of this song by Joel Sunny. And anything violin makes me think of Sherlock.

A/N: Also, I know Ms. Hudson wasn't featured in Enola Holmes, but I love her as a character and I wanted to use her.

**Tag List**

@brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67

@astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry @rebelangel1102

Let me know if you wanna be added (or removed) 😁

[meanbossart]

I gotta ask this has been rattling in my brain for a while.

How did your DU drow react when Astarion asked him for help with the ritual? What were his thoughts? Or was he simply like stop it, no, we aren't doing that. OH, How did you picture your Astarion and DU Drow react after he "died" and was brought back? I know that we don't really get that much dialogue or reaction from the companions when that happens (Praying they add something later down the line in another patch)

Again thank you for sharing your beautiful art and fanfic with all of us its so refreshing to see!!! :)

OHOHOHO I'm glad you asked. I feel like that first question is very revealing of DU drow's character and It was a fun moment to ponder upon, because I think much of his behavior might lead one to believe he would be willing to go along with whatever Astarion wants, instead of pushing back at all, at least on the surface.

There's two factors at play here - first, DU drow knows of his heritage at that point, and thanks to the blank-slate treatment of the tadpole he's gotten a brand new perspective on it by the time he learns of the truth. Prior to losing his memories, accepting the fate that Bhaal had bestowed onto him felt like a choice and the best thing that ever happened to him in life, a confirmation that he was special and destined for greatness instead of just damned to the lowly existence he had endured so far. After his brain is scrambled however, DU drow got a taste of what true freedom feels like while unburdened by his upbringing; he's strong, he's powerful, he's self-sufficient, he enjoys the fruits of his labor without appreciating what got him here - he does not feel like he needs Bhaal, and the fact he ever did is laughable at best and violating at worse. This leads him to abhor the idea of depending on higher power to succeed instead of just raising oneself up by their own merits, or abiding by any mentality where you take orders from a source.

So when Astarion speaks of ascension, and especially after he learns of the source of that power (Infernal magic) he's disillusioned by it. While his memories are still hazy, the situation still feels awfully familiar to him. He doesn't think Astarion needs that higher power because he doesn't, either, and to take it would surrendering to fear and giving away even more of his autonomy than he already has.

And if that sounds a little self centered and like he's missing some of the point, it's because he is. While DU drow has fallen in love with Astarion by that stage in the story and wants what's best for him (he actually entertains the idea of him ascending up to a point - he wants him to be happy) he still has a difficult time empathizing with others. Ascending feels like a bad choice, but he can only justify that feeling from his own, narrow perspective.

(I mused on about characterization for too long again. So more under the cut - the sky is blue the sun is hot etc.)

Then there's the uglier, far more vulnerable and knee-jerk reaction to it. Now that Bhaal is no longer his purpose in life or the gift he once felt it to be, Astarion has taken it's place. Bhaal needed DU drow, in his eyes, much like Astarion does now. And as much as the vampire might have told him that his feelings on the matter changed (and that he was no longer manipulating DU drow for his own ends alone) he can't fathom a reason to be kept around unless he continues to be needed. He has slotted himself as Astarion's protector and devotee, and a vampire lord does not sound like they need much of either.

As much as he would never admit to it, DU drow does not know a life where he doesn't pledge himself, body and soul, to another purpose. He seems like he's happy to barrel through life directionless, but he needs something that anchors him or he has an inexplicable feeling that something terrible will happen. And honestly, maybe he's right - for a man who loves killing, he has a much easier time applying some strategy to that desire as long as he's doing it to some an specific end. Without Astarion, he probably feels like his choices are to either submit to his hedonism entirely or just lie down and die.

I don't need to spell out that this is pure codependency at it's finest.

So, when Astarion asks for help to complete the ritual he is conflicted. He wants to do whatever Astarion wants, but his brain is setting off alarm bells that, if he acquiesces, this will be the end for them and for him. And whatever comes after is a terrifying void of nothing. While he loves Astarion and ultimately does the right choice in pleading with him to give up on this power, his motivations are far from selfless or pure, as much as DU drow may not yet realize it.

This is why, after everything takes place, and specially once he severs his connection to Bhaal and his mind clears a little further, DU drow would go on to grapple with a lot of guilt for taking this opportunity away from Astarion, as I have touched on in the fic and will continue to do so. He's happy to feel like he has a reason to be kept around, but the inevitable hurdles that Astarion must continue to face as a spawn are obviously painful to witness. This is why he dives full force into trying to "fix" his vampirism instead, following that.

NOW, FOR THE NEXT AND HOPEFULLY FAR BRIEFER ANSWER TO YOUR OTHER QUESTION (spoiler alert, it's not brief at all, god damn it):

Yeah everyone just standing around in that scene feels little weird LOL not that it took away too much from how dope a cutscene it was (I probably watched it with the attentiveness of a sport's fan witnessing a footbal game turning in the last 10 minutes of a match) but If I were to embellish it instead of just going with something like "everyone is shell-shocked and paralyzed", I would say Shadowheart is the first to rush over to see if there's anything at all she can do to help, and probably the first (and only, in that moment) to break down crying. I think she very quickly composes herself after he's brought back, tells him he gave her the scare of a fucking lifetime and that he's the luckiest idiot in all of the realms - but that she's glad he's back. No hugs for him though LOL

Astarion is pretty much the opposite, that he would stand there in shock feels kind of apt to me. Like, holy shit, what just happened? Did one of the only good things in my life really just get taken away in the blink of an eye? Am I just cursed to have everything snatched away from my hand as soon as I'm growing comfortable with it? Yes, of course I am. What else did I expect. When DU drow pops back up he's probably like "Oh yeah I knew it'd be fine" (plus the little Twee comment, that was very funny to me.) and DU drow is similarly going "Oh definitely, it was my plan all along to be killed and then resurrected by an ominous house-keeper skeleton this whole time. Anyway, smooch for a dead man?"

This... Clearly very traumatic little incident is probably addressed by them only later. He gets a kiss and a hug at camp and a very stern "if you do that shit again I'm raising you back up just to kill you myself" from Astarion and Shadowheart's just down to drink in celebration and drown her trauma away for now lmao.

OH YEAH AND GALE WAS ALSO THERE. There was a whole Gale debacle in my playthrough but, the TL;DR, is that especially towards the end of the game he was Not in the best of terms with DU drow. Still, I obviously think he's an empathetic person and had his own "oh shit" moment. I'd say he takes this opportunity to try extending a very sincere hand out to him later that day, both for his courage in defying a god and dumb-luck - which DU drow completely passes on like an asshole and just gives him a cold-shoulder about, leaving feeling even more dejected than he already was and probably further cementing his choice to pursue the crown of Karsus later, despite DU drow's disapproval. Good job buddy!

Thank you so much for the ask and for your lovely compliments!!! Sorry for writing you a dang ESSAY 😬